Semper Letteris Mandate
by Lady Draculea
Summary: HPTR Finally in the right direction, Harry learns how to survive the wizarding world and break away from the expectations and pressures placed upon him. All the while a certain Dark Lord lurks in the shadows, watching and waiting.
1. Mens sana in corpore sano

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 1: Mens sana in corpore sano**

* * *

It had always been during the night that Harry Potter felt he could think more clearly.

It was a time, whether while staying with the Dursleys or during school at Hogwarts, which he could think without interruptions. The silence had its own way of communicating and it calmed him long enough to sort his thoughts and feelings. Tonight was no exception, but he couldn't help but hate the silence and night, for making him think of everything that went wrong, everything that he did wrong.

The weeks following the Department of Mysteries fiasco were exhausting, and yet he couldn't sleep. The thought of what he could have done differently clung heavily to the back of his mind. Though the idea followed him everywhere, he forced himself to stop blaming himself for Sirius' death. How was he to know that the visions were shams when no one but Sirius took him seriously? He was fifteen and yet everyone expected him to be brimming with the foresight to see through the tricks and manipulation. It was not as if he was taught how to react to hostile situations at school, neither did he receive special training. How was he supposed to save the world from Voldemort if he couldn't even save himself? He had gotten into more troublesome situations than he cared for, and he had only gotten out of them out by dumb luck.

People kept telling him that he had so much power, but what good was his power if he couldn't use it properly? He was entering his sixth year of attending Hogwarts, a magical school that taught young witches and wizards how to use their magic, to protect themselves and live in their magical community. Yet, Harry could think of dozens of things that the school didn't prepare its students for. Even after being aware of the magical community for over five years, there were still loads of things he didn't know about.

Nobody ever explained the rules, so until he looked for himself he was clueless, leaving him vulnerable. While at Hogwarts Harry was introduced to things that he had previously never thought possible and each year he was surprised, even though he felt he shouldn't be. It was his lack of knowledge of the magical community that made him look less than bright. If he could, Harry would grab at all the information he could. How could he not want to when he was surrounded with what made fantasy novels jealous?

Sure, there was the Hogwarts library, but he really didn't have all the time that Hermione thought he did. There was always something suspicious going on, and if there wasn't then Harry would become apprehensive at the lack of activity. His previous years proved that. He was busy enough dodging people who wanted to kill him, keeping up with his studies as well as quidditch practice. Though, his last year was a bit of a breath of fresh air if you ignored Umbridge and her reign of terror. The life-long ban from quidditch gave Harry more time to do the things he wanted to do, that is, when he wasn't serving detention with the toad of a Defence teacher. Harry had already decided that he wasn't going to rejoin the quidditch team next year, even if it destroyed Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup. Harry loved flying, the freedom of feeling the wind rushing past him was exhilarating, and he didn't need quidditch to achieve that.

Depending on the new Defence teacher, he didn't know if he should start the DA up again. And even if he did, he wasn't going to call it 'Dumbledore's Army' anymore.

'_Let the old man find his own pawns_,' Harry thought.

It had taken him five years, but it was clear to Harry now that Dumbledore wasn't simply "the good guy", but also a leader in the war that seemed never-ending. Life didn't seem so black and white anymore, and it was foolish to actually see the world that way. Harry didn't even know exactly what he was fighting for. He knew that Voldemort had killed his parents, and that his followers had killed and tortured many others, but why? What was Voldemort after? What was he trying to change and why did he want to change it? Harry wanted to find the answers to these questions, but being stuck at the Dursley's hindered his ability to do much of anything. It wasn't as if he could write Voldemort a letter, nor could he write to the Order. They wouldn't answer his questions anyways.

Harry sighed and wondered for the millionth time how the so called 'blood wards' offered more protection than a house full of Order members plus a fidelus charm did. He wondered how Remus was doing at Grimmauld Place. The werewolf had taken Sirius' death hard. Harry could tell, even though the once Defence professor tried his best not to let it show.

Harry's head snapped up as the slam of a door was heard and looked at the barred window. The sky was no longer the deep blue-black, but lighter with the pinks and yellows of dawn. He sighed as he untangled his legs from his bed sheet and got dressed. Another night spent in his thoughts and without any sleep.

He was putting on his socks when his uncle bellowed from the kitchen. As usual, it was another day with more useless chores the was forced to do. Today his job was to weed the lawn and cleaning the garage that seemed to accumulate more junk and old toys of Dudley's that he broke on a day to day basis. Since they had given Harry Dudley's second bedroom, they had reverted to using the garage to dump everything.

The day couldn't go by fast enough. Maybe if he finished early he could spend some time reading. Harry figured if he couldn't get the most from learning at Hogwarts he'd soak up what he could during the summer. Though, being unable to actually practice the spells for Charms, Defence, and Transfiguration… well, he made due.

Another angry bellow from Vernon Dursley made Harry hurry with his socks and shoes before bolting through the door and down the stairs. It was already a bad start to the morning and he didn't want to add bruises to his list of grievances.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

The last of the Death Eaters filed out of the room and the Dark Lord Voldemort, né Tom Riddle, rose from his seat. The latest reports revealed nothing of high importance, though a few matters did peak his interest. Dumbledore and his Order were quiet, in mourning over Sirius Black.

The loss of the head of the Black household had been a devastating blow to the Order, Tom knew. The wizard had only escaped from Azkaban three years past before meeting his final fate at the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Though the Order was feeling the loss of Sirius, Tom doubted if Dumbledore shared that pain.

Tom knew how important it was that Dumbledore had everyone's complete trust in him. The old wizard couldn't afford for anyone to dig into his past or look too deeply into his actions, for what one could discover would be the end of him and what he was trying to accomplish. Tom knew of one witch who had lost her life already from trying to dig too deeply into Dumbledore's past.

It was many years ago that Tom was told of the true face of Albus Dumbledore, and he learned it straight from the man's own mouth. A proposition was given; Tom had refused and was then forced to flee for his life. For years Dumbledore had follow in pursuit, to permanently silence him. He created the Order of the Phoenix, a gathering of people with the specific goal to defeat _him._ Dumbledore poisoned their minds with lies and twisted his goal, his true goal, not one that spoke of destroying muggles and that muggleborns should kneel at their feet.

A misconception that even some of his Death Eaters believed and promoted, believing that their pure blood was superior to all others. Tom let them believe what they wanted as long as they aligned their loyalty to him and not some other buffoon who would sooner start a killing spree than work the delicate politics that it took to change anything in the wizarding community.

Magic was limitless. It could create, transform, destroy, yet they were limited on what they were _allowed _to do, to accomplish. The dark arts, banned and feared as something not understood, was just another challenge to Tom as anything else was when faced.

The dark arts were not evil, they had their own was of healing, of hexing, of cursing. Was magic meant to wound automatically called dark? What categorized dark magic? Questions, so many questions and yet books could answer them all, if you knew where to find them. Though books many of the answers to these questions could be found, but while Tom yearned to simply relax with a book, there was simply too much to be done.

With Dumbledore's machinations and the actions of his over zealous Death Eaters, it was believed that he was a dictator, ruling by fear. Decades of battle and simply trying to survive had him twisting his own goal, even losing sight of it when he learned the prophecy involving one Harry Potter, the son of two of Dumbledore's pawns, destined to defeat him. A trap that Tom was ashamed to admit that he hadn't seen through, hadn't seen how Dumbledore planned his death in a nearly fail-proof way. If Tom wasn't killed in the rebound of his own killing curse, then the prophecy placed on the infant would. He hadn't been killed, but Harry Potter was being led to destroy him.

In the end, all he should have done, and will now do, was wait. He was a patient man, and waiting was something he was good at. Things had a way of working themselves out. Now, with a clearer path, Tom could concentrate on his goals. As of now he was getting trusted people into the Ministry, securing allies from foreign counties, and freeing a select few of his captured Death Eaters from Azkaban. His goal had been lost once, but now it was clearer than ever before.

It was his most important project, though, that Tom spent the most time on. Dumbledore never imagined that the very boy that he had entangled in his games would be one of such great power. Harry Potter had little use to Dumbledore now as the false prophecy was now simply an ignorance to the unlucky boy being led to his death.

It was the link that Tom shared with Harry, forged when Tom had tried to kill him when he was an infant, that he slowly worked on mastering. It was a slow process, but through the unwittingly transferred information that Harry sent, ranging from great emotions to forgotten memories, Tom had come to realise that Harry was a vital piece in the war. With the whispers from Tom that had found their way into Harry's dreams, Tom was pleased to find that Harry was slowly breaking away from the restrictions that Dumbledore had placed upon him.

Tom would have Harry Potter. He would stand beside him, and with him, Dumbledore would fall.


	2. Fronti nulla fides

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate**  
**Lady Draculea  
Chapter 2: Fronti nulla fides**

* * *

"Wotcher!"

THUD!

"Ouch, you alright there? That looked like it hurt." Tonks poked in the general direction of a bump that was sure to appear on the back of Harry's head.

Wincing, Harry straitened from bending over the metal trunk that he had been going through. Glaring at the lid that had bashed him in the skull, Harry turned to face the metamorphagus."Hello, Tonks."

Tonks' appearance worried Harry. Order members had never bothered to come in contact with him, even though he knew that they regularly patrolled the Dursley's home during the summer ever since Voldmort's return.

"What are you doing here?" Harry wondered if it had to do with those letters that he hadn't been sending for the past two weeks. He could have been dead halfway across the world by now.

Tonks leaned back on a tower of haphazardly piled boxes, fiddling with a piece of pink hair, which confused Harry. The last time he had seen her, her hair had been less… violent shades. Was she really done mourning over her cousin? Harry frowned, but quickly tried to look innocent.

"Seems that we haven't received any letters lately, any particular reason why?"

Harry sighed, closing the lid to the trunk before sitting down. He really didn't feel like explaining himself, even to Tonks who he liked well enough, ever if she was a bit dense. It was this specific reason why he stopped sending letters in the first place. What good were his letters if all he could say that he was fine and that Voldemort had lain off sending him nightmares? The only reason he would send any letters would be to Hermione and Ron, except this summer was the same as last. Sparse words were exchanged that didn't say much of anything other than what a swell time they were having vacationing out of the country. Harry could barely stand reading any more of those letters; they kept reminding him of what a crappy life he had at the Dursley's.

"I forgot?" Real smooth Harry James Potter, now if he'd just stop fidgeting and actually keep his eyes on one spot, _not_ moving everywhere but Tonks' own gaze.

"I know that it's tough Harry, but it's really important that you tell us that you're alright. There are Death Eaters out there, and you know fully well that you-know-who is too!"

Great, now she was going to lecture him. As Tonks continued with her speech, Harry sat on the trunk he was previously sifting through and studied Tonks. She was still leaning against the tower of boxes that would have normally fallen over by now, but were still in one piece. Her eyes were quite normal compared to her hair, an almost dullish blue. Certainly not a colour Harry thought that Tonks had on her colour palette.

"… and that's why you should never turn Death Eater robes bright colours, or any other colour. I couldn't get the acid stains out of my favourite set of robes for weeks!" She nodded to herself before casting a charm to check the time, it was already past noon. "Alright then, Harry. Remember what I said and do start sending those letters, please. You don't want Snape to come by and lecture you, do you?"

At Harry's horrified look she giggled and continued. "Thought as much, and before I forget." She stood up from leaning on the boxes and dug through a pocket in her robes. Pulling out a tightly wrapped package about the size of Harry' fist, she held it out to him. At his questioning look she explained. "Your birthday is tomorrow, isn't it? I thought I'd give this to you now, happy birthday." She smiled as Harry tentatively took the package.

"Well, I have to go. See you later Harry!" She waved before apparating away with a crack.

Harry stared at the space where Tonks disappeared before walking towards the house. He couldn't risk Dudley seeing it or else it was sure to be taken from him. For whatever reason Dudley hated seeing Harry own _anything _and made it his own person goal to destroy Harry's property. Which was why he hid most of his things under the loose floorboard in his room. His trunk was stashed under the stairs for the duration of the summer where it was relatively safe. Vernon couldn't stand the thought of anything magical so he did all he could to prevent Harry from coming in contact with his objects from the magical community. Harry found it amusing that Vernon even made an effort to walk down the stairs carefully, almost as if he was afraid that Harry's trunk would smash though the padlocked door and attack him.

Intending to wait to open his gift until after midnight, Harry stashed the package under his bed before returning to finish his work in the garage. Stepping out the door, he did a double-take as Tonks jogged towards him, stumbling over the garden hose and rubbing her head as if she had hit it.

"Tonks? What are you doing back here?" Harry was confused, Tonks this time looked like she did the last time he saw her. Her hair was a mousy brown and her eyes a normal chocolate colour.

Tonks groaned and held her face in her hands. "I guess that means what I think it means. Harry we have to get to headquarters. Get your stuff."

Taken back, Harry quickly figured that the first Tonks must have not been the real Tonks. "What happened?"

"I can't explain much now, but someone knocked me out during my rounds. I sent for the Order and they should be here soon. Now scoot! Where's your wand? Moody would have your head!"

At that, cracks were heard and various Order members surrounded Harry. '_Oh bother._ _I__f the impostor wanted to hurt me they would have done so already.'_

Harry then remembered the package that the fake-Tonks had given him. Was it dangerous? Should he mention it? How did he even know that the impostor's intent was to harm him? Harry would think that it'd be less complicated if they had just kidnapped or killed him instead of chatting. Then again, they had just knocked Tonks out and didn't erase her memories. Was the Order supposed to have been summoned by a worried Tonks? The impostor must have either wanted the Order to arrive; either that or the plan wasn't very well thought out.

"Constant vigilance, Potter!" Harry jumped as Mad-eyed Moody boomed near his ear. The retired auror had his wand out in front of him; his magical eye trained on Dudley and Petunia who had come out to see the commotion. Petunia was ringing a dishtowel in her hands while Dudley was hiding behind her, his hands protectively holding his bum.

After not detecting anything dangerous, most of the Order apparated away, leaving Mad-eye, Tonks, and Remus to escort Harry to headquarters.

Remus clapped a hand on Harry's forearm and smiled weakly. "Everything's alright then?" At Harry's nod he continued. "Better get your trunk. You'll be staying at the Order for the rest of the summer."

"Come on Harry, Remus is getting Hedwig while Mad-eye talks to your relatives. Let's get your stuff," Tonks quipped as she dragged Harry inside the house.

Harry pointed to the cupboard under the stairs, "my trunk's in there." He then bounced quickly up the stairs to his room while Tonks puzzled at the padlocks and magicked them open.

Harry slid under his bed and pried open the floor board, grabbing his wand, and the package he was given earlier. He managed to stuff the package into his pocket just as Tonks came into the room, his trunk shrunk down to a more manageable size and floating along behind her.

She looked around the room. "All good, then? Alright, let's go. Your relatives are giving me the heebie jeebies."

Harry laughed as he followed her out of the room. "That's putting it mildly."

Glancing at the teenager behind him, Tonks gave him a grin. "Glad to get out of here?"

Harry smiled, "You have no idea.

Exiting through the back door into the backyard, Mad-eye and Remus were waiting for them, charms keeping the muggle neighbours from noticing their rather out-of-place appearance. Remus took Harry's arm and apparated them both away to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

Throwing himself on his bed, Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. It was well past midnight and he was exhausted. When he, Remus, Tonks, and Mad-eye had arrived Harry had been shuffled into the house. Dumbledore had been waiting, his face stern, but eyes were still contained that blasted twinkle. Harry had been careful not to make eye contact. He wasn't near confident enough to put up any sort of resistance if Dumbledore attempted to peek into his thoughts; Harry wouldn't put it past him to do just that.

Basically, Dumbledore explained what Tonks had already told him, adding nothing new. He then asked Harry about what happened to the minute detail. Harry, hesitating only a moment, kept the bit about the package out. His logic was that since the Order had cast various spells to detect dark magic or anything harmful on the entire house, Harry was certain that it contained nothing dangerous. Harry just hoped that his decision wouldn't end up blowing up in his face.

Dumbledore left soon after informing Harry that it was best if he remained at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer and that the Weasleys and Hermione would be arriving in a few weeks, returning from their vacation in Kenya.

Harry, though glad to be away from the Dursleys, was disappointed that he was stuck in the very house that had imprisoned his godfather for nearly two years with no say in the matter. A boon out of the situation was that he now had the chance to access information that he normally would never be able to look at.

The last time he was here he hadn't gotten a chance to explore much, either. Now with only Remus and an occasional Order member in the house he would be able to go where he pleased. Within reason, though, as there were many various dark and dangerous artifacts lying around the many rooms which were dirty from countless years disuse. Now that Kreacher was gone, the house-elf having killed himself after disobeying his Master's orders so severely, the house was slowly falling apart. The cleaning that was done didn't help much since it seemed as if it was the dirt that was holding things together.

By the time Harry started making his way to the room he normally shared with Ron, it felt as if his eyelids had been replaced with sandpaper. He didn't even remember that he was now sixteen. After stripping down to his boxers and snuggled under the newly cleaned linens, Harry was out like a light.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

The air smelled fresh with the light scent of flowers, just as it always did when he came here. Light from the moon spilled through the long windows, bathing everything in blue-silver, along the hall that Harry walked. He passed empty portraits, feeling as if he should know the people who were supposed to be there.

His footsteps slowed as he came to a set of wooden doors and felt his hands move to push the large doors open. Inside were rows and rows of books on every subject that Harry could possibly imagine.

Nestled between the shelves of books against a wall was a fire-place, a blazing fire enticing the shadows on the walls to dance. Rich coloured settees sat invitingly in front. Harry sat on one and closed his eyes, sighing and relaxing as the soothing crackle of the fire calmed him.

_Harry._

The whispered hiss flowed through the air, causing him to shiver as the words caressed him. He opened his eyes, the emerald orbs grew cloudy as he watched as the flames evolved into familiar pictures: Dumbledore looking down on him, his eyes twinkling; Sirius falling through the veil, Bellatrix laughing; Ron and Hermione huddled together on the train, talking while shooting anxious glances towards Harry; strangers pointing at him; his uncle Vernon glaring hatefully at him, his fist ready to strike as Petunia and Dudley looked on, doing nothing.

Angrily, Harry tore his eyes from the fire, hot tears falling down his cheeks. Why? Why couldn't everyone see what they were doing to him? Pushing him one way or another, always expecting, always taking, never giving.

_You are better then them._

They expected him to save a world that never gave him a reason to save. Why couldn't they save themselves rather than put all their hope on a single boy? A boy that barely knew left from right in the wizarding world, a boy that couldn't even stand up to his muggle uncle, a boy that barely survived the school year, a boy that didn't expect to survive.

_You can be strong, fight them!_

It was as if his life was planned from the very beginning. That damned prophecy doomed him from the start. Why did Dumbledore put so much faith into a simple prophecy? They were rarely fulfilled and always had loopholes, not to mention were easily annulled. Did Dumbledore lead him on a leash exactly for that reason? So the loopholes weren't found and used, so his pawn would do all his work for him? Defeating a dark lord hence defeating himself, leaving Dumbledore to do as he pleased with no competing power to deter him?

_Break away._

Break away, how…? All this life he was shoved in one direction. Told what was evil and what was good, what to do and how to do it. He was never given a choice. If he had a choice he wouldn't be involved, not choosing a side. But now, he could start. He could find the part of him that made the sorting hat consider putting him in Slytherin. It was always there, just tied down by Dumbledore and his control.

_Yes._

Harry shuddered again as the whisper washed over him, almost caressing his hair and sliding down his cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen. Sudden warmth enveloped him and he gasped at the intensity. A phantom hand traced his jaw and down his neck, along his arm then picking up his hand. Slight pressure, like lips, ghosted his palm before disappearing. A wind blew out the fire, leaving him in darkness.

Harry woke up.


	3. Ne humanus crede

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 3: Ne humanus crede**

* * *

Dreary light poured through the dirty glass window framed by ratty curtains, once of the best quality, signaling dawn. Harry lay awake, still save for the gentle movements of his breathing. It wasn't the first time his dreams had taken him to that place. Often during the past few weeks he'd be taken to that house where he would wonder the halls, not looking for anything in particular. He would just remember little flashes of memories, familiarities that had him thinking that he had once been there. When, he wasn't sure, maybe when he was a baby with his parents.

He had noticed the quiet whispers previously; they seemed to follow him around pushing him towards rooms that sparked memories. This was the first time the being that spoke actually came in contact with him, though. Harry was puzzled, was the whisper part of his mind or something else? He felt no hostility from it; maybe he was just losing his mind like so many claimed he had.

Shaking his head, Harry rose from the bed. Yawning, he grabbed his glasses and slipped them on, startled as his vision cleared. Over night a small pile of gifts had accumulated beside his bed, he had forgotten that it was his birthday. Smiling softly to himself he moved the pile onto his bed and sat cross legged, his linens wrapped around him.

Ron and Hermione had sent a picture of the Weasleys plus one Granger in Kenya, the beach and ocean rolling in the distance. Along with the picture was a book detailing about magic used by the tribesmen of Africa. Remus gave him a pocket watch along with a note saying that it was spelled so that it would work in magic controlled areas and would never stop. From Fred and George he received some of their new products including chewing gum that changed flavours, including cherry, bubblegum, and gymsock. From his friends from Hogwarts he received various treats and candies, and of course rock cakes from Hagrid.

It was after disposing of the wrappings, and the rock cakes, from his gifts that he remembered the parcel from the impersonator. Glancing at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, Harry shrugged into his clothes and headed out to find a room sans any portraits. As a previous headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry wasn't sure if he could trust Phineas to not to go to Dumbledore with anything suspicious that Harry did.

Slipping into a dusty bedroom, luckily portrait free, Harry climbed onto the bed and carefully opened the package. Nestled under the brown paper was a rich green fabric wrapped around a solid object. Harry's brow furrowed as he removed the cloth and uncovered a key. The key was no longer than his palm with an old-fashioned look to it with a thin chain attached to one end. When he took the key in his hand the burnished colour shimmered briefly before seeming to shine with an inner light and gleamed gold like it was new. Puzzled, Harry grabbed the cloth, flipping it over it see if there was a note or something when he spotted the picture. It was a crest, one that he felt he recognized, but couldn't quite grasp the memory.

"Ah, there you are Harry." Remus' voice shook Harry from his thoughts and he quickly shoved the key and cloth into his pocket.

"Um, yeah?"

Remus gave him a look and leaned against the door frame. "What are you doing in here? It's your birthday and breakfast is about to be served."

Harry flushed. "Sorry Professor, I guess I lost track of time." He scrambled off the bed. "By the way, thank you for the watch. I had been meaning to get one."

Remus smiled, pleased that Harry appreciated his gift. "Don't mention it, now why don't we head down stairs and start breakfast?"

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

It wasn't for another couple of hours that Harry was left to himself. During breakfast various Order members had dropped by wishing him a happy birthday and delaying any alone time he might have, but it wasn't until Dumbledore himself arrived that Harry began to suspect that it was in fact on purpose that people kept arriving. Dumbledore had probably ordered them to keep Harry busy, if not to watch him, for what reason Harry didn't know.

At one point Harry had made the excuse that he had to use the loo so he could remove the key from his pocket and slip it around his neck and under his shirt. He didn't want to risk it falling out and being seen by somebody. He also took the time to study the cloth that had been wrapped in further detail. Set on the rich green cloth was a crest etched in gold. Upon a closer look of the key, Harry could see that there was a matching symbol engraved into the metal.

Both were obviously connected, but he didn't understand why they were given to him, on his sixteenth birthday no less. Then there was the person who had given it to him in the first place. How was that person connected to all this, and how did they know such specific things about the Order to have impersonated Tonks so well?

Harry had caught the headmaster watching him a few times, as if he was searching for something. Did he know about the key? Harry didn't see how he could, unless of course Harry was supposed to have received it. Whatever the case, Harry wasn't going to share the key with anyone just yet, not until he found more information on it and the crest.

Throughout the day, Harry had probably been wished a happy birthday by most of the Order twice by the time he had managed to slip away. Slip away to where exactly, he didn't know, though. Harry had opened the first unlocked door he had come across which had led him to a dusty hallway void of any windows. There were only two doors, the first which led to an empty workroom. The other was locked. Harry huffed and glared at the locked door. He really didn't want to return to where he would be hounded and 'kept an eye' upon.

"One only must ask to enter, young Master Potter."

Harry whipped around, looking in both directions before he eyes settled on a portrait that sat on the opposite wall. A dark haired man was looking at him searchingly who then nodded to him, seemingly to approve.

"A fine choice, the boy did something right, for once."

"Excuse me, but who are you and what do you mean something right for once?" Harry was confused; this was the first time that a portrait had actually spoken civilly with him in Grimmauld Place.

The portrait almost looked ashamed. "Ah, pardon my manners. I hadn't had to use them in quite a few years. I am Cygnus Black." Cygnus straightened his shoulders and raised his chin slightly at his introduction and winked before slipping back into a more comfortable position. "I was referring to my great grandson Sirius Black, your Godfather. He couldn't have chosen a better wizard as his heir."

Harry's heart seemed to stop. "His… what?"

The Black ancestor looked alarmed. "Don't tell me that no one told you?" The face quickly grew stormy in anger. "It was that barmy old coot of a wizard, wasn't it? How dare he withhold your inheritance! If I had a portrait in the main Hallway he would never hear the last of it!"

Harry only listened with half an ear. Sirius had made him his heir? Why hadn't anyone told him? Did anyone know besides Dumbledore? It would make sense that his Godfather wouldn't want to see everything go to Bellatrix or Narcissa, the last two remaining members of the family Black. At least the last two not removed from the family tree, Harry thought, remembering Tonks' mother.

A sudden rage filled Harry. What right did Dumbledore have to keep information like this away from him? If the headmaster kept this from him, what other vital information did he keep to himself? What gave him the right to keep things from Harry that he every right to know?

"Cygnus," Harry asked after the once Lord Black finished cursing Dumbledore in every manner possible. "What did you mean earlier that I just have to ask to enter?"

Still fuming, but considerably less enraged, Cygnus answered, "now that you are Lord of the House of Black you are entitled to enter wherever you will here, as well on any other properties of Black, which you also rule over. And," Cygnus looked smug here. "You can also bar entry to where you deem for the unwanted, like certain old Bees." The light that glinted in Cygnus' eyes made Harry grateful that his fury wasn't directed towards him.

Harry nodded while wondering out loud. "If Sirius deemed me his heir, how come Mrs. Black's portrait didn't acknowledge me?"

"You mean Sirius' old bat of a Mother? My granddaughter Walburga couldn't see a powerful wizard if one kicked her in the rear. She was always snotty about that, I don't know how Orion managed to put up with her for so long."

There was another person acknowledging him as a 'powerful' wizard. What was it that other could see about him that he couldn't see himself?

Cygnus seemed to guess his thoughts. "Do not doubt yourself so, young Master. A wizard such as yourself hasn't graced the walls of a home of Black in many a century. Besides, I am a Black! I know a powerful wizard when I see one."

Harry smiled, grateful for Cygnus' reassuring words and ability to make light of a potentially dreary situation.

"Now," Cygnus was smirking to himself, pleased that he lifted Harry's mood. "Why don't you enter that room, I think you'll like what is in there. I will meet you there since I happen to have a portrait there as well." And he walked out of his frame, not waiting for Harry.

Feeling a bit silly, though he felt he really shouldn't be. Harry hesitantly asked the door to open and to his surprise, it did!

"Come now, boy, don't just stand there!" Harry jumped as Cygnus' voice ran through the doorway and he stepped into the room.

The room in reality was actually quite round, giving the impression that he was in a tower when he was certain the Grimmauld Place didn't have any towers. Books lined shelves that ran along the walls and a thick wooden table sat in the middle of the room along with cushy chairs framing the piece of furniture. About midway through the room sat a tapestry of the crest of the House of Black sitting over a cold hearth.

Cygnus' portrait reached from floor to ceiling and sat between two bookcases. He smiled as Harry took a seat in one of the chairs. "It's nice to be able to stretch my legs out; they do get so horribly cramped after sitting in one place for so long."

Looking at the Black crest, Harry was reminded of the one sitting in his pocket. Perhaps Cygnus knew what it meant. It wouldn't hurt to try, though he was a little bit worried about telling anyone about the crest and key. Harry had a hard time trusting anyone, especially since people proved time and time again that they couldn't keep their promises. Though, after what Cygnus had told him about being Sirius' heir and his reaction to Dumbledore's dishonesty made Harry believe he could trust him. "Cygnus?"

"Hmm?" Cygnus looked up from where he was massaging his cramped calves. "More questions then, ask away!"

"Yesterday someone gave me a package, but I don't know who that person was because they were disguised. They had said that it was a birthday present. I had only remembered it this morning and it turned out to be a key. The key was wrapped in a cloth with a crest on it, but I don't recognise the crest at all." As Harry explained he pulled the cloth from his pocket and held it up to the portrait.

Cygnus studied the cloth, seeming to recognise it and yet was puzzled. "I know that crest indeed. That is the Potter family crest. You are a Potter yourself, and yet you do not know this?"

Harry turned his head away, not being able to meet Cygnus' eyes. His own family crest? "My parents were killed when I was a baby, and I was sent to live with my mother's muggle relatives. I hadn't known anything of the wizarding world until I received my Hogwarts letter and there are a lot of things I still don't know."

Harry glanced at Cygnus to seem him thin lipped, his expression unreadable. "That is a problem indeed. Why were you sent to muggles when you should have grown up in the society you belonged in?"

Harry snorted, "Dumbledore's doing. Said he wanted me to have a _normal_ childhood, one that didn't have the _fame_ of being 'the boy who lived' going to my head." His tone was obviously bitter.

"Meddlesome fool does more harm than good." Cygnus hissed angrily. "It is about time you were given the information you deserved. I will be happy to answer any questions you might have to the best of my ability. I may have been dead for half a century, but traditions haven't changed that much. Now, you said something about a key?"

Harry held the key up and rotated it so Cygnus could see the crest. "Yes, that would be the Master key to the Potter House."

Harry frowned, "Master key?"

Nodding, Cygnus continued. "All pureblood families of old have keys that serve multiple purposes. The key would be given to the Head of the family either when their predecessor had died or when the next Head becomes of age. When you first touched the key it glowed for minute, correct? That means that the wards on all Potter properties have been renewed and in tune with your magical signature. The key also serves as a Gringotts key for the family's vault.

"Since you are the Black family heir you should have also received a key, I take it you haven't." Here Cygnus grumbled angrily under his breath. "We will have to do this the hard way then, I refuse to allow Albus Dumbledore access to the Black's key. He drove me up the wall then I was alive and apparently he still does when I'm dead!"

"Er, what would happen to the key if Sirius had it with him when fell through the veil?" There was a question Harry was puzzled over, since Sirius fell and most likely took the key with him, how would he receive it? Also, these keys must be indefinitely old, what stopped them from getting lost, destroyed… or thrown through veils?

"If the key had been with Sirius when he died then the key would have transported itself to its case which was in the Black family vault last time I heard. If that is the case then it makes things easier. You would just have to show proof that you were indeed Sirius' heir and Head of the House of Black. I'm sure you can ask for his will at Gringotts."

Harry already had a plan running through his head: if he could get away to Gringotts and get a hold of Sirius' will, maybe his parent's as well, without Dumbledore finding out then that would be a plus for him. Harry felt that it was necessary to keep the Black Master key as far as possible from Dumbledore. The Blacks were an ancient family with no doubt ancient relics and books, Dark objects, too. Harry didn't know what Dumbledore would do with those objects, and he'd rather not find out.

Harry also wondered if Sirius had a portrait himself. There were portraits scattered all over the house, and so far he was lead to believe that every family member had a portrait of their own.

"What are you thinking, young Master?"

"Ah, just call my Harry, please." Cygnus smiled and nodded. "I was just wondering if Sirius had a portrait."

"Hmm, it's possible." Cygnus agreed, waiting for Harry to continue.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, he felt really ignorant at the moment. "I really don't know much about how portraits work. I'm sure anyone can paint a picture, but what makes a magical portrait any different then just paint on canvas?"

"It _is_ just paint on canvas, using a portrait of a person as example, until the real being places a piece of themselves into the picture; like a strand of hair or drop of blood. The specific spell is passed down among the actual artists so not just anyone can create one."

"So the portrait comes alive right away or only until the original person is deceased? And memories, does the portrait retain the memories of the person when the piece of them was given or all of them until their death?"

Cygnus smiled fondly, "So many questions, but they are not a bad thing. Portraits can be set to a specific time to 'come alive', though once the original person has died then they come alive anyway. I'd like to believe that we keep all our memories, though it depends on the quality of the painting and power placed into the portrait itself. Unfortunately time seems to have reduced the number of quality artists, so portraits are rare these days."

Harry swallowed slowly. That slimmed the chances that Sirius had a portrait down greatly. And if he did have a portrait who's to say that it wasn't destroyed when Sirius was removed from the family tree? He shouldn't have put his hopes up so high knowing that there was a high chance that they would be cut down.

If Cygnus could, he'd hug Harry right about now. "Try not to dwell on depressing thoughts, Harry; they will only bring you down in the end."

Harry nodded to himself, Cygnus was right; he couldn't let himself get stuck in the spiral of depressing thoughts and feelings. Too much was going on for him to let himself fall into that hole. He could only go along with the ride and see what happened.


	4. De mortuis nihil nisi bonum

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking  
_Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage:

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 4: De mortuis nihil nisi bonum**

* * *

_**Two weeks later…**_

Diagon Alley was exactly as Tom remembered it. Even at eight in the morning it was bustling with activity. Venders shouted their products, almost bordering on harassing the witches and wizards that frequented the streets. Newer shops bragged their merchandise from bright coloured banners, some even flashing obnoxiously loud advertisements. It wasn't just the new stores that caught Tom's eye, but also the shops that he remembered from when he was just a boy, still attending Hogwarts and dreaming about things he was still working at today.

As nice as it would be to visit some of the older places, Tom was actually in the wizarding market for a reason. Severus Snape had informed him the night previous that Harry Potter would be taken to Diagon Alley for his school supply shopping, a matter that Tom Riddle found a bit perplexing. From what Severus had told him, there was to be at least a dozen Order members present to make sure no harm came to their precious boy-who-lived.

In Tom's opinion, if they were so worried about Potter's welfare they would take him to another market place in Britain, or even outside the country. There were various wizarding communities scattered around the world; there was no particular reason why Potter had to visit this one. And from the look on Potter's face, the boy thought the very same thing.

From Tom's vantage point, a table outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour where he supposedly was reading the newest issue of the Daily Prophet, he could follow quite inconspicuously Potter's movements around the area. Tom didn't worry in the least about being caught with the amount of concealing and notice-me-not charms he had placed upon himself. Besides, they were looking for a snake-like version of Voldemort, a façade he donned whenever he made public appearances, which wasn't often. The latest and really only time he had appeared as the snake-like Lord Voldemort was during that rather pointless fiasco in the Department of Mysteries, otherwise he looked like any other wizard.

It was true that when he was reborn he had a rather reptilian look, but it didn't take long for his correct appearance to return. In reality, he was seventy-one years old, yet his 'death' fifteen years ago complicated things, for the good or bad. His rebirth left him at the age he was that fateful Halloween night and so he looked as he did all those years ago. Not that he was complaining, he'd rather look like he did then have to see that snake-like face in the mirror every day.

As was, only his Death Eaters knew of his true appearance, and it was going to stay that way for the time being. It gave him an advantage having the community believing that even his appearance was something to be feared, something evil. And it didn't hurt that he'd be able to walk around in public without the inevitable panic and mayhem that would accompany him. Tom was taking advantage of that fact at the moment. There was nothing that said that he had to hole himself up behind walls and isolate himself. He wasn't about to have one of the Death Eaters survey, when he was just as capable, if not more so, to watch Potter and the Order. He couldn't afford having a Death Eater getting excited and blow his whole plan out of the water, not now since things were for once going along flawlessly.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

It took a bit of fancy talking and acting on his part, but Harry had managed to convince the Order members with him that he would be safe in Gringotts by himself. Though he was barely able to stop from scowling when at least two Order members, who were supposedly undercover and trailing him, slipped into the bank behind him. What did they think was going to happen, especially since Gringotts was supposed to be one of the safest of places?

Unable to do anything more then ignore them, Harry moved to an empty teller, grateful when he felt himself walk through the privacy screen. He hadn't noticed it in his first year when Hagrid had brought him here to take him to his vault, but after mentioning the odd feeling of walking through a spider web whenever approaching a teller in his second year to Hermione, Harry was given more information then he wanted to know. Apparently his bushy haired friend had found a book similar to_ Hogwarts: A History_ that detailed in Gringotts' history and the magical precautions taken within the bank to assume safety and confidentiality.

For all the Order members knew, when he was speaking with the goblin behind the counter, was that he was asking to be taken to his vault. Certainly not inquiring who he would need to see about his parent's and Sirius' wills.

It was perhaps thirty minutes later that he was standing in front of the heavily warded door to the Potter's vault with the Potter Master key in his hand, that everything hit him. The door swung open in front of him and a gust of stale air rushed past him, causing Harry to cough.

"I'll be here, Mr. Potter, to take you to the Black vault when you're ready." The goblin's voice barely registered to Harry as he stepped into his family's vault. He really didn't have any idea what to expect. Even after seeing numbers that he hadn't thought even existed on his parent's will, but it still startled him at the near mountains of gold. He picked an up coin and rolled it between his fingers, still partially numb that all of this belonged to him.

He walked further into the vault, momentarily ignoring the gold. He was looking for other things, personal items that had been stored here of his parents after they died. According to the will, as Harry was James and Lily's only son, this all belonged to him. It boggled his mind that his parents had this much gold. It was enough to last him various life times to be sure! He couldn't even imagine the contents to the Black vaults.

It wasn't until Harry realised that he was on the floor and that there was a slight stinging in his ankle, that he was in a chamber that branched off from where the gold was stored. A quick look to the side indicated that it was a footstool that had caused Harry's tumble to the ground. At a closer look to the offending piece of wood showed that it was trembling, and when Harry went to touch it, the footstool jumped and skittered away. Harry blinked, but couldn't help but smile as it hid behind a burrow and peeked out, watching Harry from a safe distance. It reminded him of the footstool from the Disney movie Beauty and the Beast.

Ignoring the skittish piece of furniture for now, Harry surveyed the room. All around him was various pieces of furniture, and not far away trunks were stacked against the stone wall. It was there Harry went first and pulled down the top trunk from the shortest stack he could reach. Using the Master key to open the trunk, Harry's brow creased as he pulled out a similar trunk to the one he just opened, but shrunk to be about the size of his fist.

Harry would like nothing more than to restore the shrunken trunk to its original size, but was hesitant to perform magic. Harry was unsure if magic deep within Gringotts' vaults could be detected by the Ministry. It would certainly not be good to give the Ministry any more reason to lock him up in Azkaban. Instead he dropped the small trunk into his bag, and hurried to the vault's entrance. He was just going to quickly take a look at the Black vault and grab the Master key. He had already spent too much time as it was in the bank.

Harry nodded to the goblin and jumped into the cart, his breath hitching as the vehicle quickly sped away, twisting through corridors and plummeting though the levels. Over the past two weeks Harry spent a good deal of his time talking to Cygnus and learning various facts and important lessons that would help him a great deal in the future.

"Vault number 835, Mr. Potter." The goblin exited the cart with a grace Harry didn't think was possible for the creature, and opened the vault door by running his nail over a series of mechanisms, manually opening the thick door.

Harry nodded to the goblin as his stumbled out of the cart. "Thanks, I won't be long."

Cygnus had been correct when he told Harry that Sirius had made him his sole heir, not that Harry had doubted the Black ancestor. It just was one thing to be told such information and to see it with one's own eyes. Sirius had made sure that everything went to Harry and that Harry would be made Lord over the Black name and properties. When Harry had confessed that he knew nothing about being a Lord or what it entailed, Cygnus had ranted on further and wanted to know exactly what it was that schools were teaching the current generations.

It all seemed amusing to Harry at first, but once Cygnus began going into detail the responsibilities one had as head of a family, that any amusement that Harry had disappeared. Of course Harry wouldn't be able to take immediate responsibility over his right as head and Lord of both the houses of Potter and Black, he was after all not supposed to know what he did, but there was nothing that stopped him from being prepared for the day when he was to take that step.

Now as he stepped into the vault everything seemed to fall back onto his shoulders. He purposely ignored the gold and walked straight to the separate chamber that Cygnus had previously told him where to find the Master key. Even as Harry walked into the chamber, he could feel the wards shifting around in the air before determining that he was indeed the Black heir. The Blacks were really paranoid.

The Master key was easy enough to find. It was sitting on a cushion situated on a dais in the middle of the chamber. Harry carefully walked over to it, hoping that nothing would pop out and try to attack him. With a sigh of relief, Harry took the final step towards the key and reached out to touch it.

Instead of the gold colour the Potter's Master key was, the Black's key was silver with veins of black running through its surface. As Harry held the magical object in his hands, it glowed with an inner light briefly and the key seemed to throb. Puzzled at why the key reacted differently than the Potter's Master key, Harry was startled as the air crackled a deep green before melting into the walls around him. Frozen, Harry wondered if this was what it looked like when the wards adjusted themselves to recognise his magical signature.

Now that he thought of it, the corners of the room didn't seem as dark and he was sure the book cases that lined the walls hadn't been there when he had entered the room. A bit unnerved, Harry was suddenly glad that the Order had accompanied him to Diagon Alley. He would have had to do some explaining to why the wards had been readjusted at Grimmauld Place when he wasn't supposed to know about his heritage, never mind why he had been in the Black's vault in the first place.

Harry slipped the key onto the chain around his neck to rest along with the Potter key, their weight against his chest reassuring as he held on for dear life as the Gringotts' cart brought him and the goblin back the surface.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

"Harold James Potter! Not a single letter from you in three weeks!"

Harry winced as the slightly taller, bushy haired Gryffindor scowled at him, her hands on her hips. Ron was behind her, confused whether he should greet Harry or join Hermione in her scolding of the boy-who-lived.

"Nice to see you too, Hermione. Ron." He nodded to Ron before moving to walk past and continue on his way to the kitchen.

"Oh no you don't, you're going to tell us what happened. We're your friends, Harry, why won't you tell us anything?" She trailed after Harry, determined to get answers.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, his dark bangs hanging over his glasses. "I'm sure Dumbledore has already told you what happened. Actually, you probably know more about it than I do, so shouldn't it be me asking the questions?"

Hermione scowled and automatically corrected him, "Professor Dumbledore, Harry. And we are never told anything, you know that." She grabbed his arm, jerking him to a stop.

Harry glared at her hand and pulled away before crossing his arms. "Fine. Someone disguised as Tonks visited me, left, the real Tonks arrived, Order came, saw, left, and I was taken here. That is the gist of it, have anything to add?"

Huffing, Hermione blew a piece of her bangs from her face. Why was Harry being so difficult? Why couldn't he see that she was only trying to help? It was all Sirius' fault! If the hot-headed pureblood hadn't gone and gotten himself killed then their friendship would be fine and back to how it was supposed to be: her as the smart, collected one, Ron the comic relief and support, and Harry the brave, reckless one who would die to do what is right. Namely kill Voldemort and show that once again the light always came up on top, preferably with her name up there as well. She would prove to the world that this muggleborn was just as good, if not better than the rest of them.

"Harry, why won't you trust us? Wasn't five years of friendship proof enough that we're here for you?"

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He wanted to trust them, but something in the back of his mind told him that he should be careful. Not wanting to continue his line of conversation, he changed the topic. "How was Kenya?"

Hermione's lips twitched at the not so subtle change of topic, but she was willing to let the subject go for now, she would pry for more at a better time. She opened her mouth to reply, but Ron answered before her and received a glare for his efforts.

Ron shot her a confused look before babbling about everything that he had already written in the letters he had sent to Harry, not noticing that said Harry was only listening with half an ear. The raven haired teenager had noticed that during their argument that Hermione had done all of the talking, which was odd upon itself since usually Ron had a lot to say about the matters concerning Harry and his letters. He also hadn't missed the look that Hermione had given Ron. Seems like he wasn't the only one keeping secrets.


	5. Tabula rasa

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking_  
Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage:

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 5: Tabula rasa**

* * *

**September 1st**

Harry was up and dressed before the sun rose. It was the morning before returning to Hogwarts and he wanted to talk to Cygnus before the hustle and bustle of the morning rush started. It was nice being able to sit back and watch as everyone ran around searching for misplaced items, but once you got caught up into the panic you were pretty much stuck there.

"Morning, Cygnus." The Black ancestor yawned in reply, waving to Harry, still mostly asleep.

Harry slumped into one of the cushy chairs; dust free after Harry had cleaned the room to the best of his abilities without magic a few weeks back. He took a slow look around the room, mentally picturing what it had looked like only the day before. The books that had been stacked on the table and floor had left gaps in the bookcases, while random pieces of clothing lay littered over chairs while remnants of an old pair of sweats lay as ashes in the fire place. Not much had happened during Harry's weeks at number 12 Grimmauld place, but he had learned a lot.

Harry now felt confident that he was caught up to what level he should be pertaining to school, if not more so. After he had finished revising his old school texts he had started on the assigned reading for his sixth year and was secure in his knowledge. The books located in his little library in the Black manor was filled with various books ranging from house hold charms to dark magic to fanciful fairytales. Most of it was written in Latin or old English and French and they often enough gave Harry a head ache to read through. His skills in deciphering the texts had improved, but not enough for Harry to actually actively enjoy reading the languages.

Last night Harry had put away the books and clothing and tidied up the room. Save for the lack of dust, one could not even tell that he had been hiding there for the last four weeks.

Seemingly much more awake, Cygnus crossed his legs and leaned his elbow against the frame of his portrait. "Eager to return to Hogwarts? I don't think I've ever seen you awake at such an ungodly hour."

Harry smiled, again thankful for Cygnus' wit. "Not so much eager, really, as ready, I suppose. I enjoy being at Hogwarts, I have always seen it as my home, and there is so much to learn there. But there's only so much privacy with hundreds of other students and there is always someone around the corner."

"Yes, when one wants peace one doesn't walk into the Lion's den, so to speak." Cygnus smiled softly as he watched Harry laugh at his words. Lion's den indeed! With the Gryffindors causing trouble and more often than not picking fights with the Slytherins, life at Hogwarts was never quiet.

Harry's laughter died down as life started to awake within the house and voices from the temporary inhabitants rang through the halls. Harry sighed and looked around the room one last time, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He was startled as his eyes began to sting and he chastised himself for getting choked up for such a silly reason. It was just that after finding this part of the house and finding the companionship of Cygnus had given him comfort. He was going to miss spending hours just curled up with a thick book in front of the fire place with Cygnus near by offering advice and interesting bits of information.

As if seeming to read Harry's thoughts, Cygnus broke the silence, "December isn't so far off, Harry. This library and I will still be here when you return, don't you worry. You won't be getting rid of me that easily!" The Black ancestor's laughter snapped Harry from his funk, causing him to laugh along with him.

"Now that's better, the day has hardly begun. Don't start it off with a frown, think of it as a chance for new beginnings."

Harry nodded and smiled as he felt the weight of the upcoming year lift from his shoulders. He wasn't going to think about what _might _happen. Let things come as they did, he'd worry about them then. "You're right; I worry about things too much."

"Glad to see you finally realised that, young Master. I was beginning to thing you were never going to figure it out." He laughed as Harry stuck his tongue out at him before pouting. "As much as I appreciate you coming to see me before you leave, you better run along. We don't want that dreadful girl to come here looking for you."

That 'dreadful girl' as Cygnus referred to her as, was Hermione. Harry hadn't been as careful as he should have been and Hermione had followed him one day, wondering where Harry always seemed to disappear off to. If Cygnus hadn't seen her trailing behind and warned Harry then she would have witnessed Harry entering the small library. Afterwards, Harry made an effort to wander the house, making it seem to anyone following him that he just spent his time exploring. Thinking back, it had given Harry an advantage. He must have visited every corner of the house at least twice and could find his was around in the dark if he needed to.

Harry rose, stretching his hands over his head and arching his back. He didn't really want to leave, but he knew he had to. "Yeah," Harry smiled weakly, the earlier humour gone. "I'll see you in December, then."

Cygnus nodded, "have a good time Harry, and enjoy your school year. They say that they are the best ones of your life."

Harry snorted, "they obviously never had lunatics after their lives when they were in school." Cygnus' chuckle followed him out the door. Slowly, Harry made his way to the kitchens, his hands in his pockets, ready for another year at Hogwarts.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

Other than the occasional Auror staked out here or there, Kings Cross Station looked as it did every other time Harry came to ride the Hogwart's express. Students and parents wearing robes or everyday muggle clothing clustered around trolleys on the platform. Mixed along with the human voices chattering about were shrieks from owls, cats, and the occasional ribbit from toads.

Farewells with Remus, Tonks and Mad-eye were short and all four of them, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, were made to promise to write every two weeks, though if it was urgent nothing could stop them from writing more. They easily found an empty compartment after dropping their trunks off to be loaded onto the train. Hermione and Ron left soon afterwards for the prefects meeting and Ginny left to find her year mates, leaving Harry alone for the moment.

The familiar scenery passing by kept Harry from noticing when the compartment door slid open, but the movement of white-blond hair in the corner of his eye did catch his attention. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy studying him from the seat across from him.

"Potter," Malfoy nodded towards Harry.

"Malfoy," mimicking, Harry nodded in return, wondering what Malfoy wanted. Did he blame Harry for his father being locked up in Azkaban? Harry waited, and wasn't disappointed when Malfoy began.

"I want a truce." His face was blank of emotions; something Cygnus had told Harry that all Slytherins were masters at. The skill of hiding their emotions under a stony mask aided them in sorting what they wanted and to manipulate people. Cygnus explained that a calm face often times infuriated people more then an openly aggravated one. People wanted other people to react rashly and emotionally, being that they were easier to deal with than an outwardly calm individual.

Harry kept his own face calm, but his eyes betrayed his surprise. "A truce, why?"

The Malfoy heir's grey eyes darkened, unintentionally revealing his nervousness, "our childish bickering and fighting has gone on far enough, and frankly it's not worth it. Besides," he leaned back here, his arms crossed behind his head. "I have plans and I'd rather you not mess them up."

Harry's eyebrows rose a fraction at Malfoy's words. He too had come to the conclusion that the squabbles between him and Malfoy were childish and out of place. His mention of plans, though, puzzled him. Why would he mention them at all if he didn't want Harry involved? "Why are you telling me this?"

Malfoy smirked, seemingly amused, "because I think you'll appreciate what I'm going to do. A lot depends if you agree to the truce, but even so I'll find away for it to work, even if you don't." He was serious here, and waited for Harry to answer.

Harry fixed his gaze on the wall just to the right of Malfoy's head. He was going to agree to the cease-fire, if Malfoy hadn't suggested it first than Harry would have done so himself. Harry understood that Malfoy had mentioned that he had plans for a reason, why Harry wasn't so sure. Perhaps he wanted Harry involved in them at some point?

"I'll agree to this truce, it is about time we settled our differences. I can't speak for Hermione or Ron though."

"The mudblood and weasel have nothing to do with this, and I would prefer if you didn't mention our conversation to them." Almost as if on cue, the door slid open revealing a tight lipped Hermione and a red faced Ron.

"What are you doing here, ferret? Leave Harry alone!" Ron's stepped boldly into the compartment, his fists raised in front of him prepared for a fight.

Malfoy sneered and rose, causing Ron to step back and take out his wand. Hermione tugged forcefully on Ron's sleeve, forcing him to stumble back.

"Honestly Ron, he wasn't doing anything!"

While Hermione gave Ron a tongue-lashing, Malfoy nodded one last time towards Harry, "I'll talk to you later, Potter." It wasn't until Malfoy had shoved his way through the door that Harry allowed himself to relax and roll his eyes at Hermione and Ron. Some things just never changed.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

All of Harry's earlier dread vanished as soon as he entered the candle-lit great hall. Following his year mates to the Gryffindor table, Harry took the time to enjoy the site of a magical reproduction of a clear night, high under the ceiling. Bright stars sparkled cheerfully, not unlike the headmaster's benevolent gaze.

"Hey Harry, check out the wizard in the grey robes. Think he's the new Defence professor?" Dean Thomas' voice snapped Harry back to reality, and he craned his neck to see where Dean was pointing. The newest addition to the staff was seated between the headmaster and a sour looking Professor Snape. Dark brown hair lined with grey fell a little past his shoulders and was held back with a band. His attention was occupied with the Headmaster, yet he didn't seem to be enjoying his talk with the aged wizard.

"I wonder who he is; I didn't hear any mention of any new professors over the summer. Of course I knew there was going to be a new Defence teacher, there always is, but usually there is some mention before hand." Harry was resting his head on his palm as he listened to the conversations around him, though Hermione's voice stood out the most. His other year mates talked to each other about their summers. Activity over the vacation had been slow, apparently. There were no announcements in the Daily Prophet over Death Eater activity, nor had anybody gone missing or turn up mysteriously dead. Harry wondered how long this brief reprieve from mayhem was going to last.

Finally the doors to the great hall burst open and Professor McGonagall strolled in, a gaggle of nervous first years trailing behind her, and the hall quieted. The sorting hat was placed on the three legged stool, and began its song. Just as it had for the past couple of years, it sang of house unity as well as detailing the aspects of each house, which was a bit contradictory in Harry's opinion. Why separate students into houses based on their personality? One could be brave, yet sly and clever just as much as they could be intelligent and loyal at the same time. Being judged by what house you were put in and pressured into being something you're not while being shunned for other aspects was something that didn't sit right with Harry.

In the end Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff both received seven new students, while Slytherin received five and Gryffindor four. After the last student, an Amelia Yaxley, skipped over to the Slytherin table, Dumbledore rose from his seat effectively silencing the last of the welcoming applause. "Students, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I know all of you are eager to dive into your dinners, but first announcements must be made!

"As all of you that are returning to Hogwarts for another year know, the Forbidden forest didn't acquire its name for the fluffy animals within. You'll take great care not to step foot within its trees unless accompanied by a professor. There will be no magic within the halls and Mr. Filch has asked me to mention that anyone found using or carrying products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes will be confiscated and dealt with accordingly."

Even at a distance, Harry could see the sparkles in Dumbledore's blue eyes dance in silent merriment. Sudden dread filled Harry, what did Dumbledore have up his sleeve this time?

"One more thing, I'd like to introduce our new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher: Professor Nigel Potter!"

Hesitant applause met the new professor as he stood and briefly bowed before returning to his seat. Almost immediately whispers circulated around the room.

"Potter? Do you think he's related to Harry Potter?"

"I thought Harry was the last of the Potters."

"Nigel, he sounds like a butler, not a wizard!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat and silence once again silence fell like a blanket, "now, I hope you will all do all you can to make Professor Potter feel welcome here at Hogwarts. That said, dig in!"

The feast appeared, but Harry didn't see or smell any of it. His gaze was locked firmly on the new Defence Professor. Could he actually hope that someone on his father's side of the family was still living? If so, where had he been all these years and why did he appear now?

"Harry?" He lowered his eyes to meet the concerned stare of Ginny. "Did you know?"

He shook his head, "no. I thought there was no one left. He's probably not even related to me."

She bit her lip, "the Potters are an old pureblood family, Harry. And there wasn't a whole lot of them to begin with. Chances are he is related to you, somehow."

Harry didn't answer, not knowing what to say. If Professor Potter was related to him, than why had the Master key been given to him? Harry sighed; he could really use Cygnus' advice right about now.

"Harry, you need to eat something!" Hermione scowled at Harry, displeased at seeing his plate empty. Beside her with his mouth full of mashed potatoes, Ron nodded in agreement. Harry was the smallest of the three of them, his lack of nourishment over the years from the Dursley's abuse had stunted his growth considerably. He could easily be considered the smallest male in his year.

Slumping in defeat, Harry placed some food onto his plate, not really hungry. The new school year was already starting out with surprises, and if this was what happened on the first night back, what sort of events will the days ahead hold?


	6. Ubi fumus, ibi ignis

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking  
_Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 6: Ubi fumus, ibi ignis**

* * *

**MINISTER OF MAGIC MISSING?**  
_By Fiona Baguette_

Early this morning Leesa and Homely Starch reported seeing the dark mark in the sky over the residence of Britain's Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Aurors were quickly called onto the scene, forcing entry into Fudge's home. It is reported that neither the Minister nor his wife were seen leaving the residence and that the floo had been disabled for the night. Aurors were tight-lipped and refused to answer any questions pertaining to the Minister or his whereabouts, making this reporter suspect that the Fudge had been taken by Death Eaters, if not killed…

Continued on page five…

* * *

"Can you believe it? Fudge kidnapped by Death Eaters! For once they've done us a favour, getting rid of 'im!" Ron chortled in between stuffing his face with bacon and scrambled eggs. Hermione's copy of The Daily Prophet was spread out on the middle of the table for those who didn't receive copies of their own to read.

Hermione looked sharply at Ron, disapproval evident in her eyes, "what a terrible thing to say Ronald Weasley! How can you condone such a thing?"

Ron rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Come off it, 'mione. Fudge is cause for a lot of our problems! And he keeps trying to put Harry in Azkaban. With him gone it's less to worry about."

"He was kidnapped Ron, by Death Eaters! I highly doubt that they are going to let him walk away unharmed after a couple of months," Hermione snapped. Once again Ron's mouth was running off without him again. Honestly, could he stop and think for a minute?

Ron blanched slightly at Hermione's words, now realising that the Minister hadn't just been kidnapped, but probably was being put through some rather horrible things. He mumbled an apology before returning to his breakfast. Even the thought of torture wasn't enough to keep him from eating.

The brightest witch of the year huffed in irritation before turning to Harry. The raven haired boy had been as silent and distant as he had during their stay at headquarters. Hermione had thought that he had been sulking over the death of his godfather and that being in the same house that had imprisoned him for a year had in turn affected Harry. But now back at Hogwarts she could see that Harry was still in his own world and it was frustrating Hermione immensely.

She had tried numerous times at following Harry during the summer, but apart from that first time, Harry just seemed to wonder around, lost in thought. It didn't help at all when after a few days Harry seemed to be able to practically disappear or enter rooms that had once been locked.

"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione was genuinely curious, she knew that Harry harboured no love for the Minister and she really couldn't blame him. She had to make sure that he remained sympathetic about it, though. She had to keep Harry from letting himself drift away from Dumbledore's side or else her plans would be ruined!

"Hm..? Oh, uh… I think that something like this was bound to happen, with the summer being so quiet and all." Harry hadn't really been paying attention to Ron and Hermione's conversation, lost in his own thoughts about the Minister's disappearance. Frankly, he had expected something to happen soon, and the disappearance of the Minister of Magic was bound to cause mayhem. If the Minister wasn't safe from Death Eaters, then who was?

Hermione opened her mouth to reply just as Professor McGonagall arrived to hand out their schedules. "Mr. Potter I'd like a word with you in a moment."

Harry nodded and watched as the Transfiguration professor moved down the table, handing out the rest of the schedules.

"That can only mean one thing, mate," Ron was scowling in Harry's direction. No doubt he already anticipated that Harry would be made quidditch captain, even though he was previously banned for life from the sport.

Narrowing his eyes Harry glowered darkly, not wanting to put up with one of Ron's outbursts on why it was always him that got all the glory. "Ron…"

"Ah, here now," Professor McGonagall returned. "I am pleased to inform you that you have been made quidditch captain, Mr. Potter." She held out the badge, waiting for Harry to take it.

The raven haired youth briefly looked at the badge before shaking his head, "I'm sorry professor, but I'm going to have to decline. I was banned from the team, remember? And Ginny was made seeker, I can't just return without trying out again, never mind being made captain."

The stern professor seemed to stutter for a moment, "but Professor Dumbledore removed that ban and reinstated your position. Surely you want to continue playing?"

"Professor, frankly, I wasn't going to return to the team this year," Harry was cut off by Ron.

"Harry, you have to return to the team, we need you!"

"Weren't you just going to snap at me for making captain, Ron? Make up your mind! I'm either a glory-hog by playing captain or a traitor by quitting. I'm not playing, it's my decision and I'm not changing my mind." His mood ruined, Harry stood from the bench after shoving his schedule into his pocket. He nodded to his head of house, "sorry professor. I wouldn't make a very good captain anyways."

Minerva McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line and she looked rather disappointed, but nodded in return. "It's your decision, Mr. Potter, though I was rather hoping you would return to the team." Shaking her head, she levelled a look at Ron, his face had increasingly coloured red as Harry spoke and looked ready explode. "Mind your temper, Mr. Weasley."

As the professor walked away, Hermione turned to Harry, disapproval in her eyes. "I thought you loved quidditch, Harry. Why are you quitting?"

Harry shrugged, still standing. He didn't really want to explain, but he knew he had to. "It's like I said, 'mione. I was kicked off the team. It wouldn't be right just returning without trying out, besides Ginny is a good seeker. Extra spare time is just what I need. You are always telling us to spend more time on our schoolwork, so now I can."

"That doesn't explain why you are not rejoining the team, Harry."

Harry sighed and began fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeve, a nervous habit. He racked his brain quickly for any excuse, finding one and hoping it sounded believable. "Over the summer I began to realise that I didn't really have a lot of time left and well, there is so much I need to learn and there is only so much time for that." He paused as both Ron and Hermione blanched. His words could be taken many ways, so why did both of them take it at its worst? "Anyways, as much as I love quidditch it's just something that I'm not going to have time for, and I could always just go flying on my spare time."

"Harry…" Hermione seemed to be thinking her words over carefully, but Harry never gave her a chance to finish because he shook his head and left.

On his way out he passed a group of Slytherins who were leaving at a slower pace. Ignoring them, he headed for the door only to be jolted as Malfoy walked past sporting an eyebrow raised in question before walking out of sight.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

The week passed rather uneventfully, other than an exploding cauldron in Potions – for once it wasn't Neville's, but Ron's, as Harry suspected the Slytherin that had walked past had thrown something extra into the brew. Harry had spent the better part of his spare time studying and ignoring Ron and Hermione's attempts to start up again the conversation from Saturday. It was now Thursday and his first Defence class was starting as soon as the professor arrived.

Harry was once again fiddling with his shirt cuffs, twisting the fabric in his fingers distracted him from the nervousness that was coiled in his stomach. He had purposely listened to the whispers between students who already had their class with Professor Potter, but nothing they said really helped. Ginny had her first class the day previous. She had explained how the new teacher had an intimidating air around him that somewhat reminded her of Professor Snape, and that really hadn't assured Harry any. If anything her words made him even more nervous.

If the Defence teacher was related to him, and knew that Harry had the Potter's Master key, would he try to take it from him? Cygnus had told him that if the key was in the wrong person's hand, as in taken forcibly, then the key would manifest itself back to its rightful holder, but if the holder was killed then the key could be used by anyone. Harry wasn't planning on getting killed any time soon, so he was as alert as possible.

The slam of the classroom's door still made him jump though. Resisting the urge to turn around to watch as Professor Potter strolled towards the front of the classroom; Harry chewed on his bottom lip and waited for the class to begin.

Ginny was right, the professor's presence did command respect, though Harry didn't really find him similar to Snape. He did have a dark aura, but other than that he was strict, but treated everyone equally, and frankly Harry believed that besides Professor Lupin, Professor Potter was the best DADA professor Hogwarts had seen in who-knows how many years.

After assigning chapter one to read and an essay resuming the chapter, Professor Potter dismissed the class. Harry quickly gathered up his things and stuffed them into his bag, just as he stood up the professor spoke, "Mr. Potter, could I see you in my office?"

Harry's head snapped up, and his stomach dropped to his ankles. He had known that this was coming, but he didn't think it would be so soon!

"Harry," Hermione briefly touched Harry's arm, "we will wait here for you."

He shook his head; he didn't want them to get involved in this. He didn't know what was going to happen and would prefer to keep whatever did happen quiet. "No, you go ahead. I won't be long."

Ron scowled, angry that Harry was pushing them away so much lately. "Whatever, mate," and he quickly stormed out of the classroom.

Hermione sighed at Harry; she was really getting tired of his attitude towards them. "We're talking later, Harry," she sent him a glare and left towards the door, jogging to catch up to Ron.

Turning, Harry started for the professor's office, dragging his book bag behind him. Stepping through the door, Harry looked around remembering the lace and kittens that had decorated the room when Umbridge had been DADA professor. Now the room was actually quite sparse with only a few tapestries depicting symbols that he couldn't make out, along with books lining shelves and a few trinkets placed here and there.

"Ah, Harry, please take a seat I'll just be a moment," the professor motioned towards the cushy leather chair in front of his desk. The older wizard was fighting with the Chameleon Ghoul that was used for the day's class. The Ghoul kept changing into suits of armour, causing the professor's spells to bounce off the metal. Growling, Nigel Potter muttered a spell Harry couldn't quite catch that forced the Ghoul into its original form and into the box he normally kept it trapped in.

Sitting, Harry watched as the professor placed a locking charm on the box before tossing it into a trunk. Running a hand through his hair, the older wizard sighed before sitting at his desk and clasping his hands before him. Blue eyes regarded Harry studiously, causing Harry to shift nervously. He was pretty sure he had seen his eyes before, but that was impossible. He never met any of his father's family and if he had when he was a baby he wouldn't have remembered.

"It's nice to see you again, Harry." He smiled when Harry's head snapped up, surprise in his green eyes. Nigel knew that what he was going to tell him would be quite a bit, and he wasn't sure how much his great nephew would be able to take in one day.

He continued before Harry could answer, "I'm happy to see that you realise what the key is for. I wasn't sure you would recognise it for what it is." He motioned to the familiar chain he could see poking out from under Harry's collar.

Harry's hand flew from his lap to grip the key hidden by his shirt, "how…? What do you mean 'again'? We've met before? And how do you know about the key?"

"It wasn't so long ago, perhaps a month. I handed the key to you myself that day; can you put together the pieces?" He smiled as Harry almost immediately figured it out. He knew the boy was clever from what he observed over the past week he had been teaching at his old school, he just didn't know to what extent his mind worked.

"That would mean you're a metamorphmagus, then?" Harry's mind was reeling. If the professor was the one who had given him the key then he would have to be related to him, but that still didn't answer the question why he gave it to him in the first place. Then there was why he assumed the form of Tonks and how he knew that she was a member of the Order. With a jolt, Harry remembered that the professor had mentioned Snape when chastising him for not sending his letters. How did he know that Snape was a member of the Order when Harry knew that that was definitely not public information?

Nigel nodded, "there are various means to disguise or changes one's appearance, but you are correct. Though I do have a problem with changing eye colour…" He trailed off, his brow furrowed as he remembered the head-ache he acquired whenever he tried changing the colour of his eyes. His morphing abilities had never been quite the same since that incident in South America a few years back.

"You are wondering why I gave you the key?" at Harry's nod, Nigel waved his wand silently casting a few charms to keep listening ears from overhearing anything. He explained at Harry's inquiring look, "The walls have ears."

Harry nodded, knowing all too well that a certain Headmaster had spies everywhere.

"Better start from the beginning," the Defence professor leaned back in his chair, one hand fiddling with his pony-tail. "It had to be around twenty years ago when I left the family. My brother Charlus and his wife Dorea, your grandparents, had just died in an accident while vacationing in America. The war was at its peak and it was troubled times for the supporters of the light. I hadn't gotten along with my brother for various reasons and shortly after his death I left the country, traveling here and there.

"It had to be four years later that I had received an owl from your father. It had surprised me, I can say, since James had never tried contacting me before as he was firmly rooted in his beliefs and sided with his parents. He wrote to me saying that Dumbledore had advised that he and Lily take you into hiding because of a prophecy." Nigel snorted here and shook his head; his opinion of Dumbledore hadn't changed over the years, if anything it had gotten worse.

"Along with the letter, James had sent the Potter's Master key, afraid that it would fall into the wrong hands. You see, Charlus was the older of the two of us, so he had been the holder of the key. When he died it went to James, and since his death I have held on to it until the time when you could claim it for yourself. This summer I had received an owl from someone I thought I would never hear from again. Dumbledore, how ever he had discovered where I was living for the past few years I don't know, offered me the position of professor for Defence against the Dark Arts. It was convenient, I knew that you were having your sixteenth birthday soon and it was time I visited you and gave you your birth right. So I accepted and here I am."

He paused, watching as Harry took everything in. It was quite a story and he knew that Harry would have many questions. There were some questions that he would not be able to answer, not at the moment anyways. He was in a dangerous position at the moment. He knew that Dumbledore suspected many things of him and had likely offered the teacher position to him to keep an eye on him, though it was a gamble to have him in close contact with Harry. Nigel didn't know where Harry's loyalties lay and it was imperative that he got him away from Dumbledore before things really began.

"You have questions," at Harry's nod he continued, "go ahead then. I'll answer them to the best of my ability.

Harry regarded his great uncle with apprehension. What he had just told him changed a lot of things, but it also helped him. From what Harry heard from his uncle's story, Nigel Potter wasn't very fond of Dumbledore, and that made him wonder at what sort of problems that he had with his brother and nephew that made him leave in the first place. He had mentioned the side of the light as if he wasn't a part of it as well; did that make his uncle a supporter of the dark, or even somewhere in between?

"When my parents were killed, why was I sent to my mother's family and not to you? Wouldn't it have been better if I was raised in a magical environment?" This was an issue that had been nagging at Harry for a long time. When he was first introduced into the magical world he was overwhelmed with things that he had thought impossible and it gave him a great disadvantage around those who had grown up surrounded by the magical community.

Nigel sighed, "Believe me when I say that I would have taken you in if I was given a chance all those years ago, Harry." He rubbed the bridge of his nose; he could feel a slight migraine coming on. This subject always made him antsy since it fuelled his anger further against the leader of the light. Harry should have been given into his care when Harry's parents were killed, not to some prejudiced muggles. "By the time I had received notice of your parent's death, you had already been given to your aunt's family to look after. Dumbledore had told me that you would be taken care of by them and that it was better that you had a normal and safe childhood, complete nonsense I knew, but was nothing I could do."

Harry had snorted at the mention of his aunt's family, his bitterness at being left to be raised by them coming to the front, "growing up with the Dursleys was anything but normal. Leaving me there did more harm than good."

Nigel frowned, noticing once again Harry's slight, undernourished frame. It was easy to see that Harry had been abused while staying with that horrible muggle family. His nephew was noticeably too small for his age considering that both his parents were on the tall side. The witch Granger who was always hovering around the raven haired youth surpassed his height by a few inches, and it gave the powerful wizard a delicate appearance.

"Harry, I'm sorry that you had to grow up the way you did. I can see that life has never been kind to you, but things are going to be different now. I promise you that."

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

He was dreaming again. The earlier revelations from his great uncle had given him much to think about and his mind brought him to his sanctuary. Instead of bringing him to the library like before, Harry found himself sprawled out on silk sheets. He stretched his arms over his head; enjoying the silence of the candle-lit room. The dark canopy over his head swayed as a breeze from an open window blew through the room.

Shivering, Harry slid to the edge of the bed, noticing for the first time that he was bare as the day he was born. He wondered why since during his previous times into this dream he was wearing the same thing he had fallen asleep in, and he definitely didn't go to sleep nude while sharing a room with four other boys. Shrugging, he pulled the dark green silk sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his frame before moving to the open balcony doors.

The view was breathtaking. Trees lay like an ocean stopped only by a small village in the distance. Overhead, the moonless night sky blanketed everything in darkness, giving the grounds a spooky feel. The wind breezed past, ruffling Harry's black hair and sending chills down his back. Pulling the sheet tighter around him, Harry backed off the balcony and closed the large, wooden doors. Craving heat, Harry scrambled back to the large bed, cocooning himself in the sheets and closing his eyes. Relaxed, Harry let his mind wander, going over the past week's events.

Just as he was dozing off, Harry was jolted awake as he felt the bed dip. Warm hands slid over his sheet tangled legs, causing goose bumps to form on his skin. Untangling him from the sheets, the hands ghosted over his chest, causing Harry to whimper as they moved back down to his thighs.

He tensed as lips followed the same trail as the hands, only continuing towards his jaw line where the hands had fallen lower. Long fingers traced patterns on Harry's flushed skin as the lips moved to claim Harry's mouth. One delicious caress had Harry gasping, allowing a tongue to snake past his lips. Pulling back, the lips and tongue licked a path to Harry's ear, and whispered a hiss.

"_Scream for me, Harry."_

Harry's eyes snapped open wide, the voice so familiar in his dreams he had only believed it to be a part of his mind, but now with a body touching, tasting, him it seemed so much more real. He could feel the stranger smile against his neck before nipping a trail back to his lips and kissing him deeply.

The stranger pulled back from the kiss and Harry found himself staring into the whiskey eyes of Tom Riddle.


	7. Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking  
_Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage:

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 7Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris**

* * *

Light that spilling from the windows stung Harry's eyes as he banished the darkness away by pulling his bed's curtain to the side. His eyes darted from side to side, noting how everything was as it was the night before. There weren't any Dark Lords hidden under his bed, no glowing eyes peering at him from a shadowy corner.

Slowly, his racing heart began to slow and Harry noticed for the first time that he was trembling. Drawing in a shaky breath, Harry untangled himself from the blanket that twisted around his legs, trying not to panic as it reminded him of his dream. The cool morning air seeped over his skin, calming him long enough to notice his lack of clothing, and finally the throbbing arousal in his nether regions. Blushing, Harry quickly grabbed his pyjama bottoms he found on the floor and pulled them on. Quietly, as to not waken his dorm mates, he scrambled out of the room, snagging his shower bag along the way.

Fortunately, the showers were unoccupied leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. Divesting of his clothes, Harry entered the spray of water, letting the cold liquid wash over him and help clear his thoughts, not to mention get rid of a certain problem. He soon adjusted the spray to a more bearable temperature, and quickly his skin reddened from the heat.

Sighing, Harry rubbed his hands over his face, washing away the last dregs of sleep. How could he have not realised sooner? That soft voice that always comforted him, it was always speaking to him in Parseltongue. At first, he had been wary of the voice and its hidden familiarity when it first began to communicate with him, but over time he came to accept it, and almost depend on it to make him feel better.

Unlike last year where Voldemort had sent him nightmares, twisting his sense of reality, he was much more subtle. Until, at least, when he had tried to seduce him. The Voldemort in his dream wasn't the same as the one he fought last June in the Department of Mysteries, though. The Voldemort that looked at him _that_ way in his dreams was reminiscent of the memory of Tom Riddle he saw in his second year. What did it mean? Was Voldemort just sending him these dreams to mess with his head, or was it his own subconscious telling him something? Though, no matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn't think of any reason why his own mind would put him and Voldemort in a position like _that_.

Pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry stepped out from under the spray of water, watching as the water slowly diminished to a dribble before stopping entirely. Shaking the water from his hair, Harry quickly dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist just as the door opened and the first of the early risers poured in the room, eager to shower before the morning rush arrived. Harry slipped out the door and headed back to dress.

Once fully clothed and ready for the day, Harry stopped in the common room before leaving for breakfast. Hermione and Ron were nowhere to be seen and Harry hadn't seen Ron in the dorm room that they shared either. Sighing, he grabbed a free chair that sat in front of the large, imposing fire place, choosing to wait for the other two members of the 'Golden Trio'.

When both Hermione and Ron failed to appear after fifteen minutes, Harry jogged up to the dorm in hopes of spotting Ron. Finding the room empty save for Neville's frog Trevor croaking on a trunk, Harry went back to the common room. This time impatient, he grabbed a passing second year and asked her if she could check to see if Hermione was still in her dorm. She wasn't.

Grumbling, Harry made his way to the Great Hall. He wasn't quite sure how Hermione and Ron managed to sneak past him, or why they did in the first place. Harry thought with Hermione harping at him so often about him excluding her and Ron that she'd nearly glue herself to his side. It made him wonder if she had something else planned for keeping an eye on him.

The Great Hall was just as noisy as it always was, not that it was any big surprise since it was around the time when most of the school came in for breakfast. How everyone managed to find the energy to nearly deafen him so early in the morning, Harry was never sure.

Walking past Hermione and Ron, Harry purposely ignored them. So what if they didn't want to wait for him? Harry was trying to find his own way, anyhow. He had hidden from them at Grimmauld Place didn't he? So why was he feeling so abandoned? Maybe he had forgotten how nice it was to have friends so close. His stomach sinking, he sat down next to Ginny. The red-head was buttering a piece of toast.

"You look like something Crookshanks dragged in, Harry."

Harry glared at his younger friend, "Good morning to you too."

Ginny shrugged and took a bite of her toast, "Not sleep well?"

Harry winced; Ginny didn't bother to finish chewing before answering. "Not really."

"Nightmares?"

He could feel his face heat up. "You could say that." He mentally patted him self on the back. His voice barely wavered at all.

Ginny gave him a suspicious look, "uh huh."

Could she tell? She could! Harry was sure his face was completely red by now. He sunk lower onto his seat, wanting to melt into the floor as Ginny grinned, a glint in her brown eyes that made Harry want to run for the hills. "It was a naughty dream, wasn't it?"

Harry groaned, his eyes shifting left to right, praying that no one was overhearing their conversation. "Ginny, please…"

She scooted closer to Harry, her half eaten toast long forgotten. "Come on, Harry. We're friends, so tell me, who did you dream about? Is he hot?"

"What!" Harry's yelp brought attention to the two of him, he felt his face heat again. Glaring, Harry hissed towards Ginny, completely embarrassed. "Ginny, shush… and what do you mean 'he'?"

Ginny giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Don't act so innocent, Harry. I've seen you looking at Dane Spoon's arse. Can't say that I blame you, what a fine arse it is!"

Harry sputtered; he had thought no one noticed! Merlin, he was never going to live this down. He can only hope that no one else had noticed his appraisal of a fellow Gryffindor's rear end.

"Who has a fine arse?" Lavender slid into the free seat across from Ginny and Harry, her hair in a bizarre up-do. Harry had to stop himself from tilting his head to try and understand the mechanics of the gravity defying hairstyle.

Ginny picked up her toast again, "Dane Spoon."

Lavender nodded, agreeing. "Definitely, but if we're evaluating arses, I'd have to say that the prize goes to Draco Malfoy. God, sometimes I can't decide whether or not I want to murder him or jump him."

Ginny snorted, "I don't know. I can't see to get past his overly large ego long enough to admire any of his assets."

Harry blinked, "You're talking about the Draco Malfoy that's sitting over there, right?" Harry had to agree with Ginny, but now that he thought of it, Malfoy was actually kind of… pretty.

Lavender startled, seeming to just notice Harry. The clouds of daydreams involving sweaty, naked men dispersing from around her head, she smiled. "Harry! I didn't notice you there. What was your question again?"

Harry shook his head, "Don't worry about it. It's almost time for class anyways." He grabbed a blueberry muffin before standing and hooking his book bag around his shoulder.

"Yeah, we have Charms, right?" Her eyes suddenly widened, "shoot, Charms! We had homework for that class, didn't we? I completely forgot! Crap, crap, crap!"

Harry nodded, sympathising with the female Gryffindor. "We only had to practise the wand movements for that cushioning charm. No essays or anything like that."

Lavender let out a sigh of relief, making Ginny giggle. "Thank God for minor miracles." She smiled sweetly at Harry, and hooked her arm through Harry's. "Thank you, Harry. You know exactly how to make my day better."

"Um…"

Standing up herself, Ginny couldn't help but let out a snicker. "There is no point on even trying Lavender. Harry doesn't sit on that side of the fence."

His face was red again, "Ginny!"

"What? It's true! The only girl you liked that that Chang girl and every since that 'incident'," she quoted the word with her fingers, "you haven't even spared a glance at other girls." Sometimes Ginny was too insightful for her own good.

"You like guys?" Lavender blinked before shrugging. "That's okay; I had to give it a shot, right?"

It was Harry's turn to blink. "You don't care?"

"Why should I? My older brother married a guy last year; I think it's cute, and hot."

Smiling Ginny lightly decked Harry on the shoulder, "See, Harry? Nothing to worry about."

"Easy for you to say."

"Whatever! Well, I'm off to Potions," she wrinkled her nose, "de-warting creams, yuck."

Lavender giggled as she dragged Harry out of the Hall, Harry and her waving as the two of them headed to Professor Flitwick's classroom and Ginny to the dungeons to spend her morning under Snape's close scrutiny.

One of the few last to arrive, Lavender fortunately detached herself from Harry's arm and moved to sit with her friends, giggling all the while. Harry could feel his stomach drop, when the whole lot of them turned to stare and giggle at him all at once.

Muttering to himself, Harry slumped further into his seat. He couldn't decide whether or not he would rather to be back in bed, even with disturbing dreams about Voldemort, or here being gossiped over. "I feel like a piece of meat."

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

Harry poked at his food. The mush of mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and chicken had lost their appeal before he was half way through with his meal. During classes he had managed to forget about the dream that made him blush just thinking about. Potions had been a nightmare, more so than usual. Harry had tried his hardest not to think of anything that was related to his dream at all during the period in the dungeons, afraid that Snape might pick up on his thoughts. His intense concentration on his potion instantly caused Snape to become suspicious and had hovered insistently over his shoulder, convinced that Harry was up to something.

It had made him incredibly jumpy. He just barely got through completing his potion before he tripped over his own feet when Hermione had tapped his shoulder, wondering if he was okay. Of course, he had lost his house twenty points and had wounded his pride, but he was thankful that nothing else had happened.

"Honestly, Harry. You're going to make yourself sick if you don't eat." Hermione's voice rang over the table, as it has been since they had sat down for dinner. It had started out as worried looks during Potions, which escalated to annoyed glances during Defence, and now was frustration bordering on hostility. What did she want to him do? He couldn't very well tell her about his dream since she'd just tell him to tell Dumbledore, and if he refused, she'd tell him herself. There was no way that he was informing the Headmaster of his dreams in that familiar house, especially ones that involved Tom Riddle.

"Harry, are you even listening to me? Harry!" She smacked her hand on the surface beside Harry's plate, startling him. Snapping his eyes from his food masterpiece, Harry brought intense green to meet frosty brown.

"I told you already Hermione, I am fine. I'm just not hungry."

"You didn't eat anything at lunch either. I know you are never one to eat a lot, but this is ridiculous." Her words where short and snappish, her frizzy brown hair more fly-away than usual. "You only don't eat when something is bothering you, and here you are telling me that you are fine. You are not fine."

Harry was getting increasingly annoyed with Hermione's harping and butting into his business. Why was it that Hermione only concerned herself with him if he was neglecting to eat or doing something she didn't approve of? Lately all she cared about was whether or not he made it to class on time or that he was taking care of himself properly. Harry couldn't count how many times she had shoved books that contained some obscure information on things he doubted he would ever need to apply to real life. How many people were going to ask him who the wizard was that decided that wand tips should be rounded, not pointed?

When Harry didn't respond, Hermione fell to her wits end. "Harry James Potter answer me right this instant!"

Standing, Harry didn't hear the silence that engulfed the Great Hall. "You are not my mother, Hermione. If I do not want to talk about what is bothering me I don't have to. Since when has my life been an open book to everyone?"

Not backing down, even at Ron's squeak of her name, Hermione jutted her jaw defiantly. "You are the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry. You can't just retreat into yourself and expect nobody to notice!"

"That is a poor excuse, Hermione, and you know it. I deserve just as much privacy and consideration as everyone else. I am not an object for display and I sure as hell don't need you telling me that I am." Not waiting for a reply back, Harry stormed out of the Great Hall, ignoring Hermione's indignant sputtering and the whispers and snickers from the student population, as well as a few of the teachers.

Glowering, the raven haired youth stalked down the halls, unconsciously mimicking his Potions Master. He couldn't believe the nerve of Hermione! She had flat out told him that he wasn't allowed any privacy and that he wasn't a person with thoughts of his own, incapable of forming opinions.

Harry snapped out of his scowl when he realised he was standing in front of Professor Potter's classroom door. He didn't even remember the trip from the Great Hall and the classroom. The polished wood inscribed with runes made him remember why he was there in the first place. After Potions, Harry had felt that if he didn't tell anyone about his dream he would burst, or at least trip down a flight of stairs. Luckily Defence was next and for some reason that Harry couldn't put his finger on, he trusted his uncle. Unfortunately, the class was a study period and they were shipped to the library to research on the Chameleon Ghoul from the day previous and related species. After class it was off to dinner, yet the presence of the newest Defence professor was missing from the staff table.

The oncoming conversation he was going to have with his newly discovered uncle was one of the many things that had weighed heavily on his mind. He didn't know exactly how much he could trust Nigel Potter. Harry wanted to believe that his uncle would keep his confidence, but so many people have lied and betrayed him already. It took a lot for Harry to completely trust someone. Harry hoped that he could trust his uncle.

Knocking first, Harry pushed open the door. It wasn't locked. "Professor?"

"In my office!" The professor's voice was a tad muffled from the distance.

Looking up from his writing as Harry entered, Nigel smiled. "Ah, Harry. Come in and take a seat."

Harry shuffled to the chair he had occupied the day previous. Smiling weakly, Harry began to wonder if it was such a good idea after all.

Putting down his quill, Nigel eyed his great nephew, noting the tightness of his mouth and overall worried appearance. "What brings you here? I'd have thought you would still be down at dinner."

An eyebrow raised, but hidden beneath his ruffled black bangs, Harry shook his head. "Had an argument, I wasn't hungry anyways."

"Hmmm…" Something was defiantly troubling the boy, Nigel could clearly see that. "Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

Harry hesitated, "can you..?"

Understanding what Harry meant, Nigel waved his wand, watching curiously as Harry relaxed somewhat when the privacy wards were put in place. "Harry…?"

After a moment he spoke, "I've been having these dreams. They come every once in a while, and I always end up in the same place. It seems familiar, but I don't think I've ever been there."

Intrigued, Nigel gently prodded. "Can you describe it?"

Harry nodded, "yeah. I first start out walking down a hall. On one side are long windows and on the other are empty paintings, its kind of creepy now that I think about it. At the end of the hall is a set of double doors which lead to a library, one larger than even the one here at Hogwarts. I always end up sitting on a sofa that sits in front of a large fire place. The fire shows me pictures sometimes, memories…" He trailed off, remembering the whirlwind of emotions that usually flow through him whenever he is forced to watch the flames.

"Then there is a voice."

Nigel's eyes snapped to Harry's face, they were previously watching the shadows from the window dance along the wall. "A voice?"

"Yeah, at first I thought it was just part of my dream, you know? A part of my mind, but last night…"

Harry stopped abruptly, his face red in embarrassment. He couldn't believe that he was going to tell his dream to someone, someone who happened to be his uncle!

Nigel quirked an eyebrow, curious at his nephew's reaction, "do you need something to drink, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, "no, I'm fine."

Nigel nodded, "please continue."

"Last night I… I didn't go the library. This time I 'woke' up in a bed… naked." Harry's face burned in embarrassment, he couldn't look at his uncle while he talked. "That had never happened before. Then I took a sheet with me and walked to a balcony, for the first time seeing what lay beyond the house I was in."

"What did you see?"

"Trees, and a village in the distance. It was night. I went back into the room because I was cold and I fell asleep." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I woke up from the feeling of someone touching me, and then the person… kissed me. He spoke to me and I realised that he was the person who was talking to me before in the library, and for the first time I realised that the voice wasn't speaking in English, but in Parseltongue. The realisation made me open my eyes and I saw… I saw…"

Nigel was at full attention now, at first he believed that Harry's dream had just been a dream, but with the mention of Parseltongue, a rare gift many considered dark and that only two were known to possess, Nigel began to suspect that it was more than just a dream, and a lot more. "Harry…"

"Voldemort. It was Voldemort. But he didn't look like him when I saw him last in June. He was the Tom Riddle from his diary, but older." He looked at his uncle, eyes imploring. "Please tell me I'm just going crazy, that the dream means nothing."

Nigel sighed, "I'm afraid I can't do that Harry. The dream does mean something, and it would be dangerous to believe otherwise. No, Harry, I cannot tell you what it means. It is up to you to discover that for yourself."

Harry slumped against his chair, defeated. "What can I do?"

Nigel picked up his quill, "at the moment? Nothing. It will come to you eventually, and don't worry, it will come to you."

Harry nodded and rose. "Thank you for listening, Professor, I really appreciate it."

"Of course, Harry. You can come to me about anything, and don't worry, my lips are sealed."

Once Harry had closed the classroom door behind him, Nigel leaned back against his chair and ran a hand through his hair. Things were moving a lot quicker than he had originally believed.


	8. Qui Tacet Consentotit

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking  
_Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage:

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 8: Qui Tacet Consentotit**

* * *

**Halloween morning**

Harry didn't really feel like eating breakfast, it was his least preferred meal of the day after all. Coupled with the fact that it was his least favourite day of the year as well didn't help his lack of appetite at all. Actually, if he had his way, Harry would be curled up under his blankets in his bed, only emerging from his cocoon of warmth to use the loo. It had been a plan perfect for a dreary class-free day, but of course all good things had to come to an end.

"Harry," Ginny's voice was exasperated, but completely sans guilt over dragging him out of his den to the cold dining hall. "Are you going to eat something or are you going to glower at your food all morning?"

The boy-who-wasn't-a-morning-person transferred his glare to the redhead, who of which rolled her eyes as she buttered a piece of toast. As Ginny's eyes returned to her toast, Harry wondered what his chances would be if he bolted back to his dorm. Maybe if he could distract her…

"Don't even think about it, Harry." She pointed her toast at him, "The Halloween dance is tonight and you're going, no matter what."

Right, the dance. The dance Harry had been pretending he didn't know about. Meaning feigning confusion and coming up with places he needed to be whenever someone asked him if he wanted to go as their date. Dances in general Harry avoided, particularly after the traumatizing Yule Ball during his fourth year, but a dance - on Halloween – just spelled disaster.

"Gin, you know how I feel about Halloween. Bad things happen and I don't want to be apart of it." To be honest, that wasn't the only reason why he wasn't going to the dance. The past month and a half had been filled with hostile silence between him and Hermione. Neither of them was willing to admit that they were wrong, which he wasn't, so the argument between them hung unresolved. Hermione avoided Harry and Harry avoided Hermione. Ron was somewhere lost in the middle, but was more or less standing alongside his girlfriend. Harry knew that they'd be at the dance having fun, and he saw no reason to be the dark cloud that dampened everyone's fun.

Ginny waved Harry's words away, "blah blah, bad stuff, blah grrr, blah." She narrowed her eyes at him, "that is exactly why you need to have a good time and make some positive experiences."

The youngest Weasley shook her head, her red hair smacking the girl seated beside her. Ignoring the glare – apparently Harry wasn't the only grumpy-pants in the morning – Ginny reached across the table to snag his picked at muffin and shoved the baked good into his mouth when his eyes drifted. "You can sleep anytime, now eat."

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

Dark, angry looking clouds hung low in the sky and the ominous feeling that lingered in the air sent chills down Harry's spine. The damp and gloomy morning did nothing to improve his mood. Somehow, he had been dragged along with Ginny, Luna and some other girl from Ravenclaw who Harry didn't care enough to remember the name of.

There was a girl attached to each of his arms while Luna hung a bit farther back, smiling and wishing a good morning to the trees that they passed on their way to the quidditch pitch. Harry wasn't quite sure what the girls had planned, they had glued themselves to his side as soon as he was finished swallowing the muffin that Ginny had so kindly shoved down his throat.

"This will do!" Ginny threw herself onto the grass, consequently pulling Harry down along with her and landing in a rather ungraceful heap beside the youngest Weasley. The Ravenclaw girl giggled at his lack of manly-manness display and sat her self down beside Luna, who had sat down after checking the grass for dampness.

Thankfully, the grass was dry. Probably because they were sitting under the monstrous stands which blocked the rain and wind. Only a few other students dared to leave the warm interior of the castle, so they were virtually the only ones outside. _Lucky them. _Harry would rather be curled up, preferably in his bed, and warm. Was that too much to ask?

Ginny caught Harry's longing look as he gazed back at Hogwarts. She felt a slight twinge of guilt for dragging him out into the damp October weather, but was quickly able to squash that feeling down. Harry rarely did anything other than sleep, eat –barely- , and study lately. Ever since his row with Hermione he had been laying low, trying to avoid any attention to himself. It annoyed Ginny and she was adamant on him not being miserable during his stay at Hogwarts. Merlin knows he never had any fun or let loose at his muggle relative's house. Even knowing the little she did about his life away from Hogwarts, it was easy to see that the summers with his Aunt's family were not sunshine and daisies.

The silence that had fallen lay awkwardly as Ginny waited for Harry to bring his attention back from the castle in the distance. Impatient, she tapped her fingers on her thigh as Luna and the other Ravenclaw whispered to each other. Harry was off in another world, and Ginny was going to pull him back. A smile curled her lips, one that if anyone had been watching her would quickly decide that they wanted to be far away when she executed whatever she was planning.

"Harry," she sing-songed, "don't you want to know what your costume is for the dance?"

That got his attention, as well as Luna's and the-girl's-who-Harry-still-couldn't-put-a-name-to. It also made his heart drop. He had been hoping that Ginny would forget that he didn't have a costume, and true to his reluctant self, he would conveniently mention that fact an hour or so before the dance began so he would have no chance of acquiring one in such a short amount of time. Ginny had out-smarted him. Dammit. He had to work on his deviousness.

The redhead giggled at Harry's defeated expression, being evil was so much fun. "Don't look so excited, Harry. I have the whole thing covered."

Harry groaned, he could just imagine what sort of costume the fifth year could have come up for him. "Get on with it, Ginny. There better not be any tights."

The girls snickered to themselves, imaging the wizarding world's saviour in tights. Ginny did have to admit though; Harry would make a wonderful Peter Pan. His frame was small enough to make a convincing enough make-believe boy. Maybe if she changed the colour of his hair for the night, add some freckles… "That isn't a bad idea, actually."

Harry looked positively horrified. Kicking himself, Harry scooted back as the girls' faces took on a particular mischievous appearance.

Ginny laughed, Harry was just too much fun to tease. "Don't worry; there are no tights, promise. Actually, I think you'll like it."

Very much relieved, Harry lay back against the grass, staring up at the underside of the stands above them. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?" Amused silence radiating from the younger teen, Harry protested. "Ginny!"

"Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Harry mumbled something unpleasant.

She retaliated by sticking her tongue out at Harry, "do you want to know or not?"

"I'm listening." He shifted so he was resting his weight on his arms. He really was curious. He may not be fond of dances, but the costumes always piqued his interest.

"I've changed my mind. You'll have to wait until tonight."

"Ugh!" Collapsing on the grass again, Harry tuned out the sound of the girls' voices and let his mind clear. Thinking of nothing in particular, Harry turned his head towards the quidditch field. Fat drops of rain had started falling from the sky sometime after they had found shelter under the towering stands. The rain was soft, not at all pouring, but the clouds above promised a storm later on.

Green, grey, black, blue, and the occasional splash of red all bled together, drowning as the rain washed them all together. Nothing disturbed the quiet tranquility of nature, that is, until Harry spotted a shock of white blond bobbing quickly between the stands opposite from the one that Harry was under.

Even at his vantage point, Harry could easily discern that that blob (though one could hardly compare a Malfoy with the word 'blob') was Draco Malfoy. His attention fixated on Malfoy, Harry watched as he paused and turned to face Harry, almost as if he could sense Harry's gaze. Their eyes met, green clashed with silver, but no words were said or movements taken.

An eyebrow raised, Draco pulled the hood up over his head as the rain begun to fall in earnest. His discernable hair now hidden, he took off towards the Forbidden Forest, the rain washing away any evidence of anyone passing by.

It reminded Harry of the time he and Draco had been partnered together to look for an injured unicorn in the Forbidden Forest as detention all those years ago. Looking back, Harry couldn't believe how childishly they had both behaved. There had been so many needless battles, suspicion and misery between the two of them over the years, Harry was glad that they had settled their differences. Sure they weren't friends, but at least they were no longer enemies.

"It really is coming down now." The nameless Ravenclaw's voice broke through Harry's musings. Ginny grunted in agreement, not at all pleased with the weather.

Luna's dreamy voice had a sad twinge to it as she stared forlornly at the angry sky. "The Great Pumpkin's voyage will be a difficult one tonight. The poor children may not receive a visit this year."

Harry, Ginny and the Ravenclaw stared unblinkingly at Luna, but Ginny was the first to ask. "The what?"

Slowly, Luna blinked her wide blue eyes, a frown tugging at her lips. How could they not know of the Great Pumpkin? "You don't know? The Great Pumpkin rises from the pumpkin patch every Halloween to fly to good boys and girls all over the world to deliver gifts."

Luna never failed to amaze Harry, but a flying pumpkin? It sounded a bit like Santa Clause, but Harry wasn't about to correct her.

Unfortunately, Ginny wasn't following his train of thought. "How… eh, never mind. We should get back the castle before we get sick."

The blond Ravenclaw nodded, acknowledging the fact that now wasn't story time. She'd enlighten them later when they were not threatened with becoming ill.

Harry immediately brightened and jumped to his feet. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Gin."

Ginny narrowed her eyes before latching onto the sleeve of his outer robe. "One would think you're trying to escape the company of us fine ladies, Harry." She reduced the power of her glare to minimum at his sheepish look. She knew he wasn't purposely trying to ditch them, but he could suffer in their presence until they all reached the castle. "Now come on, you need to try on your costume so I can see if it fits."

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

_Well, _Harry thought as he pulled his fedora lower over his face, _this isn't so bad. _And it wasn't. The costume that Ginny had given him was actually quite nice, and completely tights free. Comprised of a black and grey pinstriped suit with black dress shirt, a white tie and black hat, Harry looked like a mobster strait from America's Chicago during the early twentieth century. It was sharp, and he able to hide in the corner since the colours didn't stand out.

Luckily, nobody had seen him yet and he was quite content to stay where he was. He was a horrible dancer, convinced that he had two left feet when on the dance floor, so he didn't even consider attempting to dance. That didn't leave him bored, though. The faculty had outdone themselves this year when it came to decorations. As well as the customary pumpkins floating overhead with the candles, there were exaggerated spider webs hanging from the corners, ones that included real spiders. Harry chuckled to himself, remembering the scene Ron had made when he and Hermione had danced too close to one of the webs and Ron nearly got a face full of spider. He had run out of the hall screaming, leaving an embarrassed Hermione by herself in the corner.

Hermione had left shortly after, probably in an attempt to placate her boyfriend and convince him to return to the dance. She came back empty handed, and was now seated across the hall from Harry, her arms crossed and her face, clouded with anger. Even from his vantage point he could see her snap at anyone who came too close to her. Harry shook his head, wondering why she even bothered returning if all she was going to do was growl at those having a good time.

"I had figured you would be dancing with every male and female that could coerce you into it, Potter."

Harry jumped and had his wand in his hand before he could stop himself. He couldn't help it. Having a Dark Lord after your blood for half a decade did that to you. Sliding his wand back up his sleeve, Harry turned to Malfoy. "What makes you think that?"

Draco leaned against the wall, not minding one bit that a spider was watching his every move not a few feet away. "Simple, half the student body is lusting over the fact that you're single," a perfect blond eyebrow rose over rim of his dark shades, "and gay." White teeth flashed in a smile as Harry blushed violently before turning to look away. "The females want to convert you and the males want in your pants."

"Where did you hear that?" Even though he asked, he knew the answer. Lavender Brown was not known for keeping secrets and she had learned that bit of information over a month ago, the whole school must know by now since gossip concerning him spread like wild fire.

Draco shrugged; he knew that the Gryffindor was perfectly aware that anything Harry said out loud was bound to be let loose among Hogwarts. He was just surprised that he hadn't noticed the leering teenagers around him. He either was foolishly naïve or completely innocent of the intentions of some of his peers. Normally Draco would just sit back and watch, but he couldn't have anyone get too close to the green-eyed youth.

After a moment of silence, and after Harry's blush had died down, he turned back to Malfoy. "Why are you here talking to me instead of being out there?"

The Malfoy heir peered over the rims of the shades that complimented his classic black tux, his outfit as the muggle fictional character James Bond. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm not chatting you up. I find women perfectly suitable to my needs, but if I ever change my mind I'll be sure to let you know."

Harry sputtered, complete sentences a concept that was beyond him at the moment. His face was red again and he felt like melting into the wall.

With a silent laugh, Draco pushing himself away from the wall, "you really are too easy to tease. Have a good night, Potter." With a knowing smirk, he left towards the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor.

_What did he mean by that?_ Of course, Harry could just be reading too much into it. The years of rivalry between the two of them was hard to dispel and Harry couldn't stop the small amount of distrust he still held against Malfoy.

"Was that Malfoy I just saw talking to you?"

For the second time that night, Harry's heat beat jumped in surprise. Ginny, in her green glory, clad as a wood sprite, had a hand on her hip. The international sign that women used that meant they were not leaving until the got the answers they wanted.

Harry nodded, not really in the mood to dodge questions. "Yeah."

Both hands where on her hips now, her interest piqued and just a bit worried. Harry and Malfoy were never ones to get along. "And?"

The hat shielded his eyes, and Harry knew that it annoyed Ginny that she couldn't see his face clearly. "And what?"

She nearly growled, "and what happened? You two don't usually walk away from a conversation without one of you heading to the hospital wing!"

Harry, unknowingly mimicking Malfoy, raised a brow in question, not that Ginny could see with his hat in the way. "You want me to go to the hospital wing?"

"Yes, I mean, no. No, I don't want you to go to the hospital wing, you git. What did you two talk about? Why weren't you fighting? And before you ask, no I don't want you to be fighting either."

Harry chuckled, "that made a whole lot of sense, Gin."

"Oh shut it."

He shook his head, what did they talk about? Right, how apparently his classmates are lusting over him. "Nothing really, Gin."

Not really believing him, but willing to let it slide, Ginny repeated her second question. "And why was there was no fighting?"

He could answer this one honestly, at least. "We settled our differences early this school year, it was about time, don't you think?"

"Does this mean I can't hex him anymore?"

"Only if he deserves it."

Ginny's smiled was positively wicked, "Hmmm…"

"Ginny, don't even think about it. I won't stop him from hexing you if you end up deserving it."

"Fine," she pouted, but it was gone in seconds, replaced with a dazzling smile. "Now, why don't you come out of that corner and dance with me?"

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

The dance had ended hours ago and the castle was silent, save for the quiet pat of Harry's sneakers on the floor. He should be asleep, but he wasn't. Nothing good ever came from this day ever since he arrived at Hogwarts, why should now be any different? Though, technically, it wasn't Halloween any longer since midnight had come and gone an hour ago, but his body wasn't listening to his mind.

Just this morning he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but now his bed was the last thing on his mind. He was just expecting something to happen, and he hoped that it would happen before either Filch or Snape found him wandering the halls, though he had done his best using the spells he knew to hide himself from being detected by searching eyes. He had left his invisibility cloak in his trunk, not really in the mood to be smothered under the fabric.

It was somewhere in the dungeons when Harry felt the notice-me-not charm shatter around him. Before he could react, a warm body pressed against his own, shoving him none-too-gently against the wall. His hands were quickly pinned over his head and a charm he didn't recognise silenced his voice with the wave of the shadowed form's hand. The figure, male from what Harry could tell as he stood flush against his own, trapped him against the wall.

His attacker ran his hand down Harry's cheek, causing his body to tense at the cold finger tips. The taller shadow moved Harry's head gently to the side, baring Harry's throat to his view. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as the figure dropped a kiss on the smooth white column of Harry's neck, before tracing a path to his ear.

The feel of the figure's hot breath against his throat and hard body against his own was causing heat to pool in Harry's groin, a soundless whimper escaped his throat as the man ground their centers together. The shadowed form chuckled and hissed in Harry's ear.

"_Out alone at this time of night, Harry? Tsk, tsk, tsk."_

Harry's eyes widened dramatically, he knew of only one other person who could speak Parseltongue.

Tom Riddle chuckled again and licked a path down Harry's throat, loving the taste of the green eyed Gryffindor. The young man squirmed against him; causing Tom's breath to hitch before placing a hand on Harry's hip to still him. "None of that, my Harry, or I'll be tempted to do wicked things to you right here in the hall."

Harry stilled immediately, but couldn't help the shiver that snaked down his spine at Voldemort's words. He was immediately reminded of the dream almost two months past that involved Harry, Voldemort, and silk sheets.

"I was planning on visiting you this night, Harry, but imagine my surprise when you came upon me yourself. This saves me a trip to your tower and allows me a little more… time." Voldemort's thumb dipped over the waist of Harry's jeans and caressed the sensitive skin, causing Harry to shudder and struggle anew.

Harry couldn't believe that Voldemort was in the castle, in Hogwarts. The castle was supposed to be one of the safest of places, but Voldemort had gotten inside and he was pinning him against the wall. And Harry really hoped that it was Voldemort's wand that was poking him and _not _something that Harry really didn't want to think about.

Voldemort's hot breath fanned over Harry's cheek before moving to his ear. Tracing his tongue along the shell of his ear, he whispered in Parseltongue, effectively causing Harry's legs to turn to jelly. "_Though, as much as I'd love to ravish you against the wall, it seems that my time here is interrupted after all. Sweet dreams, Harry."_

Almost at once, the pressure that held Harry to the wall was gone as well as the spell that silenced his voice. Voldemort had vanished.

A patter of feet sounded from around a corner and Harry could see light from a lamp reflected against the walls. Filch. Without a second thought, Harry took off, his heart still beating rapidly against his chest as well as his arousal straining against his jeans. He didn't look back until his was safely in his dorm, and even then he didn't sleep until the light of dawn broke through the previous day's clouds.


	9. Mors Cum Terrore Novo Venit

I am _really _sorry about the delay. I have had this chapter mostly finished forever, but just couldn't get the conversation between Harry and Dumbledore down. I hate writing the old coot, because quite frankly, I am terrible at writing him. Apologies aside, I must mention that I have edited the first chapter to be suit the plot that I changed somewhat after reading Deathly Hallows. So, I suggest rereading the first chapter or at least reread the second half of that chapter when Riddle is introduced.

Thank you everyone for being patient with me while waiting for this chapter, I really appreciate it.

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking  
_Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage:

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 9: ****Mors Cum Terrore Novo Venit**

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry groaned and pressed his face into his pillow in attempt to block out the insistent voice near his ear. Couldn't they see that he was _trying _to sleep?

A hand, assumingly the hand of the owner of the voice, grabbed hold of Harry's blanket and shook, stubbornly persistent. "Harry, wake up!"

"What?" Harry mumbled, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The blurry form of Ginny leaned over him, an anxious expression on her freckled face.

"Here, "she handed him his glasses and the world suddenly cleared once he put them on his face.

Now that he could see, Harry looked over to his bedside table for the watch Remus had given him for his birthday, but before he could grab it, Ginny answered his unspoken question. "Half-past seven."

"What's going on?" A quick look around showed that everyone else was still sleep, well, used to be asleep. Neville was now awake and just as confused as Harry, from the looks of it. Dean and Seamus were slightly conscious, but quickly dropped back asleep when nothing urgent was happening. Ron barely even twitched at the noise.

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but the dorm room door crashed open, interrupting whatever she was going to say. Hermione, dressed in her school robes, bustled in. Pausing, she scowled at the lack of action. Aside from Harry and Neville, everyone was fast sleep! Honestly, at a time like this. Fuming, she stomped over to her boyfriend, "for pity's sake, Ron. Ron, wake up!"

Ron snorted in his sleep, and rolled over.

Hermione twitched, her usual patience when dealing with Ron had flown out the window the evening before when he left alone during the dance. With a flick of her wand, water in a vague bucket shape appeared over the Weasley male's sleeping figure. The liquid quickly surrendered to gravity's pull, soaking the sleeping redhead.

Ron shot up immediately, awake and looking, for all it was worth, like a drowned weasel. "'Mione? What was that for?" He sneezed, the water had not been warm.

"We're prefects, Ron. Get up," she snarled, her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

Harry tuned them out, yawning as he did so. He was exhausted. "What's wrong, Ginny?"

"Huh? Oh!" She blinked, tearing her eyes away from the mini-battle going on between her brother and the bushy-haired bookworm. "Snape's dead!"

"What?! How, when?!" Dead? Harry had to admit that he certainly hated the greasy potions master, but not enough that he wanted him dead.

"Sometime last night, in his rooms. The teachers aren't letting anyone out of the dorms."

"Last night…?" Something happened, he just couldn't quite remember what. It was on the tip of his tongue, but no matter how much he prodded at the just-out-of-reach thought, it wouldn't budge.

Ginny nodded grimly, her eyes solemn, "yeah, everyone is saying that it was you-know-who."

At the mention of Voldemort, Harry's memories from the night before suddenly came crashing back. Paling, he remembered his encounter with Voldemort, and began struggling to get untangled from his blankets.

"Don't even think about it, Harry." Hermione was standing beside a half-dressed Ron, a faded robe over his pyjamas and shoes stuffed over differently socked feet. The youngest Weasley male looked deathly pale under his freckles, no doubt Hermione had already informed him of the situation.

Harry paused and looked at Hermione in confusion. At her disapproving glare, Harry realised that she thought that he was going to rush head first into the castle in search of his parent's murderer.

When Harry spoke his voice was low with barely concealed anger, "do you really think so lowly of me that you honestly believe that I'd leave to go searching for Voldemort, by myself?"

The green eyed Gryffindor's tone made everyone who was listening flinch, everyone but Hermione. Ginny's glare and movements to stop before things got out of control were dismissed as Hermione answered Harry's otherwise rhetorical question, "you have been known to do just that, Harry."

As much as he didn't want to believe her, he knew inside that it was true. There had been a time when he would blindly rush head first into danger, no matter what the consequences. And look what happened, Sirius died. He realised now his mistakes, and no more people were going to die because of his recklessness. He may not have known exactly what his actions would cause, but he hadn't really stopped to think about it either. But that was in the past, no amount of ruminating was going to undo what was done. He wasn't the same reckless boy that he used to be, and he was determined to show Hermione that. "Things have changed, Hermione."

She sighed, "No, it is you that has changed."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Harry didn't' want to fight, he was tired of fighting. Why couldn't she just accept that and realise that he wasn't going to return to being the child he used to be?

Hermione's voice was gentle, but it held a note of exasperation, "of course not Harry, but it is no longer like we know you. It is like you are a completely different person."

Harry didn't think he was different now; maybe he had changed, but a whole different person? He was someone different because he stopped to think of the future now, about how actions have consequences and that not everything was going to turn out for the good? That not everything was black and white? He shook his head, not wanting to argue with Hermione, especially now that Voldemort had killed someone in the castle.

Hermione was waiting for an answer, her lips pursed in a thin line, reminding Harry of Professor McGonagall. Ignoring her expectant look, he slipped from his bed, this time at a more leisurely pace. There was no rush, right? Voldemort had to be long gone anyways. Not that he was going to look for him.

Hermione's eyes on him, as he moved to his trunk to dig out a robe, felt like brands searing into his back. Once more or less decent, he gestured for Ginny to follow and walked to the door. He made it a point not to look in Hermione's direction.

"Harry, stop this instant. We are not finish--! Harry!"

Whatever Hermione was going to say was lost, as Harry walked through the door and onto the steps leading to the common room. He didn't want to fight, it was too early for that and to be honest, he couldn't think clearly. The events from the night before - or was it earlier that morning? – were rolling around in circles in his head. Voldemort had been in the castle. Voldemort had molested him in the castle. Voldemort didn't kill him. Voldemort killed Snape instead.

Harry groaned, he could feel a headache beginning. He would have to see Madam Pomfrey later for a pain-relieving potion, that is, if they were ever let out of the common room.

"Are you alright?" Ginny was hovering in the door way, looking rather vexed. She hadn't been very pleased with Hermione lately either.

"Yeah, just a headache," he said as he started down the spiraling stairs, Ginny close behind.

Ginny snorted, "If I have to hear anymore of Hermione' spiels about you changing, she's going to be the one with the headache! Bah."

The common room was in chaos. Groups of students were huddled together, whispering to each other, some of the younger years even crying. No one noticed when he and Ginny entered, something which he was grateful for. He didn't need anymore accusations directed towards him.

After securing a couple of comfy chairs, curtsey of Ginny's glare (not even Harry was brave, or stupid, enough to face Ginny's ire), they grabbed a mug each of hot chocolate, curtsey of the house-elves dropping them off, as well as an assortment of breakfast foods. The tray of foods was mostly untouched, no one felt like eating.

"Ginny," Harry said, "you said that Snape was dead, and it is obvious that something has happened, but why are they saying that it was Voldemort?"

Taking a sip of her cooling beverage, Ginny licked the froth from her lips. "You know that Jacobs kid, the one who always gets in trouble?" At Harry's nod she continued, "Apparently he had an early morning detention with Snape from something he did last night at the dance. Anyways, he went to his office, but the door was opened and Snape was inside slumped over his desk, dead."

"He said all this? Where is he now?" Harry found the story a bit hard to believe, he especially wondered why Jacobs didn't immediately go to a teacher instead of coming back to the common room.

Ginny's brows furrowed, a frown in place. "Well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

She nodded, "yeah, you see he was going to see McGonagall but he ran into Professor Potter…"

Harry blinked, his hot chocolate pretty much forgotten. Was his uncle involved in this somehow? It was pretty convenient for him to run into Jacobs just after the young Gryffindor found one dead potion's master.

Ginny snorted and placed her mug onto a table, "anyways, Jacobs told the professor what happened and was sent back to the common room, where he proceeded to wake everyone up and tell them what happened."

"He just… sent him back?" Harry asked, confused.

Ginny nodded, "yeah. He didn't bring him to Dumbledore, or wipe his memory or anything. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

"He was supposed to come back and tell everyone? Why would Professor Potter do that?" Harry had his suspicions, of course. If his uncle really was a supporter of the dark, then wouldn't want to spread the news around of Snape's death? If people didn't believe that Voldemort was back now, then a publicized death organised and carried out by the dark lord himself would get their attention.

"Well, that is just what Jacobs says, we don't actually know if he's telling the truth." She pointed over Harry's shoulder. Jacobs was standing there, surrounded by a gaggle of students, obviously relishing in the attention being bestowed upon him. "The prat has been the center of attention ever since he told everyone."

Harry returned to facing Ginny, "if it is true or not," Harry was sure it was true, why else would Voldemort be skulking in Hogwarts at night? "Something had to happen if we're confined in here."

Nodding in agreement, Ginny curled her legs under her. "What I want to know is what makes Jacobs think that is was Voldemort who killed Snape? I mean," she smiled, but it was tight, "maybe a student had too much to drink and offed the bugger? Or maybe he just, you know, died? What? It could happen!"

Harry smiled, "of course Gin, whatever you say."

Sticking out her tongue, Ginny winked.

Harry was just about to start his neglected beverage when silence descended upon the common room. Everyone watched the portrait entrance open with baited breath and sighed in relief as one when Professor McGonagall slipped through. The Head of Gryffindor was dishevelled compared to her usual immaculate appearance. Black hair was swept into a messy, quick bun, while the day's previous robe hid her nightgown.

Even though it was completely unnecessary as everyone's attention was on her, she cleared her throat before speaking. "Everyone, I assure you that everything is under control and that you are in no danger."

"Does that mean it's true, then? That you-know-who was in the castle?" Whispers followed Seamus' question, and they all shuffled nervously while anticipating the answer.

Professor McGonagall's lips tightened to a fine line, no doubt cursing Nigel Potter for allowing Jacobs to return to his common room and spread around the story. "Questions will be answered in due time, Mr. Finnigan. For now, you will have to be satisfied with the knowledge that you are safe."

Apparently not content with that answer, protests flew from the more brazen students while other chattered with their peers. Irritated, certainly not in the mood to deal with the students so early in the morning, McGonagall held her wand to her throat, using sonorous to amplify her voice. "Silence!"

Her order effective, she continued, "now, as a precaution no one is allowed to leave the tower. If anyone is caught outside these rooms they will be dealt with accordingly. The house-elves have already delivered breakfast, I suggest that you eat and finish up any homework you might have." Pausing, she then added "One more thing, Harry Potter, if you'll come with me."

Harry jumped, startled. What did she need to see him for? Or maybe she was escorting him to Dumbledore's office? Harry felt this stomach sink to his ankles, what if Dumbledore knew about his dreams? What if knew about his encounter with the dark lord he was supposed to destroy?

"Harry?" Ginny prodded him, "are you ok? You're looking kind of pale."

He swallowed, suddenly parched. "Yeah."

Biting her lip, she added, "you should hurry, McGonagall looks ready to pop."

Nodding, bustled from his seat to the Professor standing stiffly in the doorway. Nodding, Professor McGonagall motioned him through the doorway. "This way, Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you."

The trip to the headmaster's office was tense with silence. Harry didn't know what to say, and even if he did, he didn't think the transfiguration professor would appreciate being interrupted from her thoughts. The older witch's gaze was pointed straight in front of her, but she was obviously distracted. Harry wondered if that was such a smart thing, especially if one professor had been murdered.

Whether it was a good idea or not, they arrived outside Dumbledore's office in due time, the gargoyle statue leaping away to grant them access after a quick "Sponge Toffee" from McGonagall.

"Make your way up to the headmaster's office Harry, I need to see to other duties." Nodding once, she was off, barely waiting to make sure that Harry ascended the staircase to Dumbledore's office.

"I have told you once I'll tell you again Albus; I had nothing to do with this." Nigel Potter's voice floated from the headmaster's office. Harry had never heard his great uncle sound so agitated. The elder Potter always kept calm and cool, not even letting antics from the ever bickering Slytherin and Gryffindors ruffle his feathers.

Dumbledore's voice, though with a note of steel, was just as calm as the Defence professor's, "and I, Nigel, have told you that no one is accusing you of anything. I am only inquiring if you were aware of Voldemort's plans."

There was silence and Harry could imagine his uncle glaring at the white haired wizard. He was just about to knock to announce his presence when Nigel spoke again. "I am not a Death Eater, Albus. What do I have to do to prove that?"

Dumbledore sighed audibly, "I am aware that you do not carry Voldemort's mark, but I am also aware that you do not support the light."

It was Nigel's turn to sigh, but this time in exasperation, and then said "again with your 'light' and 'dark' nonsense Albus. I am--"

"I'm sorry Nigel." Dumbledore cut off the rest of what the younger wizard was going to say, "we will have to continue this discussion another time. A visitor has been waiting outside the door long enough now."

Harry gulped, hating how Dumbledore seemed to be able to know when he was near. It was unsettling and led to more than one awkward moment. With no hesitation this time, Harry knocked twice on the thick door before popping his head into the room. "You wanted to see me, headmaster?"

"Yes Harry, please take a seat." Dumbledore nodded, motioning to a squishy pink and orange stripped chair in front of his desk. To Nigel he said, "that will be all, Nigel. Good day."

Nigel grunted, not even making an attempt to reply. The Defence professor looked frazzled; his normally pulled back hair loose and tangled around his shoulders. His robes, like McGonagall's were from the day previous and pulled over sleeping pants and slippers. Passing Harry at the door, he offered a slight smile of encouragement, lending silent support to Harry for the inquisition that was sure to happen.

Once the door was closed and Harry seated, Dumbledore leaned his elbows on his desk, his chin resting in his palms. The normally cheerful headmaster looked worn, the lines on his face even more pronounced than usual. "Would you care for some tea, Harry? It is an early start for the weekend."

"No thank you, sir. I already had something to drink in the common room." Harry had come to expect the tea or sherbet lemon candies that the headmaster seemed to never cease offering. Harry knew that the day that Dumbledore didn't offer a beverage or treat, would be the day that the world fell apart.

With a twinkle in his eye that made Harry nervous, Dumbledore asked, "how are you feeling this morning, Harry?"

"Fine, just a little tired."

Dumbledore nodded, "trying to keep up with your school work, and not wandering the corridors at night, I hope?" The old wizard peered over his spectacles, making Harry feel like he was looking right into his soul.

"No, sir," Harry said, his eyes planted firmly on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk.

"No nightmares?"

Harry shook his head and prayed that he wouldn't do something to give himself away. "Nothing. My scar hasn't even been hurting anymore."

Dumbledore hummed to himself, seeming to have come to a decision. "It could be that Voldemort finds the connection between you and himself through your scar too much of a liability. While it had been proven useful into seeing what Voldemort was planning, I find that I am relieved that you are no longer subjected to the torments of his mind."

Harry grunted, not really believing what the headmaster said. If Snape had taught him Occulmency properly than he wouldn't have had been 'subjected to the torments' of Voldemort's mind in the first place. Speaking of Snape… "Sir, is it true that Professor Snape is dead?"

Instead of losing the twinkle in his eyes at the question of Snape's death like Harry had expected Dumbledore to, the blue of his eyes twinkled more fiercely and a look of triumph seemed to overcome the headmaster for a moment before it was gone so quickly Harry wondered if he had imagined it. Now Harry was really confused. Why would Dumbledore be happy that his spy was dead?

"Yes, Harry, it is true that Professor Snape has passed on."

"Then Voldem--"

Dumbledore interrupted him, "There is no evidence that Voldemort had entered the castle, Harry. I would have been informed if he had."

That couldn't be right! Voldemort had kis—he had accosted him in the corridor! "But…"

"Do you have something you want to tell me, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, suddenly looking like the powerful wizard he was said to be, not the jolly old man Harry had come to known.

His heart tightened in his chest and Harry fought to keep his voice from shaking. Dumbledore couldn't find out about his dreams or his encounter with Voldemort. He wasn't someone Dumbledore could intimidate into receiving answers anymore. He didn't trust the headmaster and he wasn't sure he ever really had. "No, professor. I just don't… who else could have killed him?"

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair, his nightcap falling into his face. "How are you getting along with your great uncle?" Dumbledore said, avoiding the question, or perhaps alluding to something else. Harry wasn't sure.

Wary, Harry answered, "I've only been able to talk to him a couple of times, sir. It has been nice to talk to someone who is actually family."

Nodding, Dumbledore added after Harry's silence, "Did he tell you why he left the family, Harry?"

With a sinking feeling growing at the base of his stomach, Harry started to understand where the headmaster going. Did he think that his uncle had killed Snape? Realising that he had hesitated a tad too long, he quickly answered. "He didn't agree with his brother's views." Fiddling nervously with the cloth of his robe, he asked, "why does it matter, though?"

"No matter, Harry. I was just curious."

Annoyed, Harry decided that he would really rather be back in bed. "Sir, if that is all, can I go now?"

At Dumbledore's nod, Harry rose and quickly left the office. The walk back to the common room was silent, he didn't meet anyone on the way, as was expected since everyone still wasn't allowed the leave the safety that the dorms presented.

"Psst, Potter."

Stopping cold in his tracks, Harry's hand went straight for his wand. "Who's there?"

The unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy answered, "keep it quiet. No one is supposed to be out in the halls."

Seeing the blond Slytherin hidden around a corner, Harry moved closer. His wand was still clutched tightly in his hand, not exactly trusting Malfoy not to curse him, even after their truce and friendly words that had been exchanged since. "What do you want?" He asked when hidden in the shadow that the corner afforded.

Malfoy held his finger to his lips, quickly grabbing onto Harry's robes and dragging him further against the wall. Footsteps sounded, quickly growing louder until Professor Burbage walked by. Holding her wand in front of her, the Muggle Studies Professor seemed to be muttering to herself, her gaze planted firmly on a piece of paper held in her hand. Completely absorbed with whatever she was reading, she passed by the two teenagers hidden not five feet from her.

Once Burbage's footsteps were out of hearing range, Harry let out a breath of relief. It was one thing being out in the halls after returning from Professor Dumbledore's office, but it was another to be caught speaking with Draco Malfoy cordially in the hallway when students were not supposed to be out and about.

"Answers."

Blinking, Harry said the first thing on his mind. "What?"

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy grabbed his arm and dragged him to the closest empty classroom. "Answers, Potter. I want answers."

Confused, Harry let his ex-rival lead him to the classroom, thinking that he should be the one demanding answers.


	10. Fama nihil est celeries

* * *

_Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

Speaking  
_Parseltongue_  
:Mind speakage:

* * *

**Semper Letteris Mandate  
Lady Draculea  
Chapter 10: Fama nihil est celeries**

* * *

"What kind of answers?" Harry asked as he found a seat on a dusty desk.

Malfoy shot Harry a look, mild annoyance decorating his face. "The answers to last week's charms quiz. Really, Potter, what do you think?"

Harry shook his head, not surprised by Malfoy's sarcasm, but still confused. From the way that Malfoy had been acting for the past couple months Harry was sure that the blond Slytherin knew more of what was going on than he did. The demand for a truce (Harry wasn't foolish enough to believe that it was simply to let bygones be bygones), the knowing smirks, the little hints. No, Harry thought as he tugged at his sleeves, Malfoy definitely knew something. "I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you."

With a sigh, Malfoy ran a hand through his loose blond hair. "Let's start from the beginning," he said, moving to lean against the wall, "but first…" Once he magically locked the door and cast a couple of privacy charms that Harry had never heard of, Malfoy lowered his wand, and tucked it into his robes. "When did you start having the dreams?"

Time seemed to stop. Everything was silent save for Harry's heartbeat. He wasn't even sure if he remembered to breathe. "How?" It came out as a whisper, a plea that could almost be disguised as a sigh. Merlin, Harry thought, if Draco knows then who else? Is this some running gag between the Death Eaters? Operation Seduce Harry?

Draco almost seemed sympathetic, for once he didn't carry his patented smirk or condescending sneer. "I don't know much, probably less than you do. All I know that this isn't a game, no matter how much it might seem like one."

The tight apprehension in Harry relaxed a little, but didn't go away entirely. "Why are you telling me this?"

Grey eyes flickered to the far wall as he thought, mouth down turned in a frown. It was strange, Harry mused as he watched his once rival. Draco didn't appear to be the same person that he had spent fighting with during his years in Hogwarts. There was no smirk or sneer, just silence and thoughtfulness. For the first time Harry saw Draco as a human and not a representation of all things that he hated.

After a moment, Draco spoke, his eyes never leaving the wall. "Everything changed this summer." Another pause, this time more hesitant. "Before, I was blinded by my own stupidity. I was arrogant… selfish."

"Was?"

Draco shot a glare at the raven-haired teen, but Harry could see that there was not any of his usual malice within it. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

A small smile and a shrug, Harry motioned for the blond aristocrat to continue.

Draco sighed, "he's not what you think he is. None of this is what any of us thought it was. I thought that… I thought I knew!" The last part came out as the quieter half of a shout, his voice cracking.

Grey eyes were suddenly on Harry, the colour hard and unrelenting. "It's a lie, can't you see?"

His mouth suddenly dry, Harry swallowed thickly. "What's a lie? Or maybe I should be asking what _isn't _a lie?" He wasn't sure what to believe any more. Who could he turn to for answers? Who could he trust? Certainly not Dumbledore, and the clenching knot in his stomach told him that he should be wary of his uncle. His best friends have already proven who they were loyal to, and Ginny, while a trustworthy companion, was not someone he wanted to dump his worries on. She at least deserved a normal life. How Harry wished that he could talk to Cygnus. The Black ancestor had always managed to help him untangle his thoughts and sort his priorities.

Draco was silent during Harry inner monologue, grey eyes watching as emotions flashed through the emerald depths, but something was… off. "You've changed."

"Huh?" Harry blinked, suddenly his thoughts scattered.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Though you're still an uncultured heathen, someone has been teaching you."

Slightly perturbed at Draco's perceptiveness, Harry shifted his gaze to a dusty corner. Somehow he knew that he could trust Draco, at least to a certain point, but he still hesitated. He wasn't completely convinced that Death Eaters weren't huddled behind a corner, just waiting for him to let his guard down before attacking.

He was tired though. Tired of having to worry at every shadow, tired of having to be suspicious of every stranger he met, tired of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. Would it hurt to tell Draco of Cygnus' guidance? It wasn't as if the Slytherin would go and tell Dumbledore, not now. This wasn't about getting the other expelled or in trouble. Those childish days were long gone.

"I…" Harry stumbled over his words, unsure of how much he could tell. The fidelius charm on the Black Home restricted direct mention of the house itself and while there were ways around it, Harry wasn't sure if Draco would be able to connect the dots. Narcissa was, after all, a Black by birth, and surely Draco would be aware of the ancestral house of Black. Would Draco recognise Cygnus as his distant relative? But then, Harry thought in relief, he didn't need to tell Draco the name of his teacher and hopefully he wouldn't ask. "Yeah," Harry nodded finally, grateful for Draco's patience. "A friend has been helping me with pretty much everything."

"Everything?" Draco echoed, a brow raised. "Politics, etiquette, vocabulary…"

"…Traditions, useful charms, history, general knowledge." Harry picked up where Draco trailed off as he remembered back on the things that Cygnus had briefly covered before Harry had left for Hogwarts. "Things I should have known, but-"

"-Didn't." Draco watched Harry, silently for a moment before continuing. "It wasn't Granger who has been teaching you," his voice was firm, sure, "nor was it Weasley."

Harry shook his head, choosing not to say anything.

"A pureblood, surely." Draco gave Harry a measuring look, no doubt wondering who Harry could possibly be acquainted with that would be able to teach him the knowledge that he was lacking. "Your great uncle?"

Harry shook his head, "I didn't even know I had an uncle until the opening feast."

Frowning, Draco tilted his head to the side as he processed that information. Once upon a time he had been under the impression that Potter had been raised in the lap of luxury, that the wizarding world's savoir had been surrounded with everything and everyone that he could possibly need. It was only years of silent observation that he discovered that that was not the case and it was obvious just by looking at the young wizard that life had been hard on him. Potter's statement only reinforced that theory. "Who then?"

"Does it matter?"

Draco sighed in exasperation, but told himself to be patient. He couldn't afford to scare Potter away, not now when time was of the essence. "It may, especially if that person is giving you the wrong information. I can only assume that the people you are exposed to are feeding you the adapted version and not is normally passed down through the generations." A headache was started to building, slowly pounded against his skull and scraped at his carefully acquired patience. He was more than the boy he had been last spring, but that didn't mean that he was an entirely new person.

Understanding dawned, and Harry nodded his head. In the past Harry had only been educated on the ways of wizards when the moment called for it. He had neither sought out further information unless it somehow pertained to the task at hand. He had listened to what others had told him, seldom questioning whether or not if their words were valid. How was he to know that they were wrong? While Hermione could recite anything that she had read in her books, her knowledge was not limitless, and Ron hadn't grown up in the typical pureblood family and only exposed to a handful of the older wizarding traditions.

What he had learned from the Weasleys, practical in its own way, was still only the tip of the iceberg. Household charms and how to deal with Garden Gnomes was one thing, but how and why some things had come to be and all the detailed intricacies expected of the Lord of a family was another. Harry had certainly never witnessed Ron's father act in the manner Harry would have assumed the Lord of a family would act, but then again the only example Harry could really compare him to was Lucius Malfoy. The blond aristocrat, though aligned with Voldemort, always acted with dignity, at least, in Harry's presence.

"I don't think," Harry began after a moment's hesitation, "you have to worry about that. The... person who has been helping me isn't – he." Harry sighed, frustrated. "Listen, you'll just have to trust me on this. I think you would approve."

Draco frowned, but didn't press the subject. As long as Potter was learning from a reliable source, that would have to be good enough for now. He would, of course, prefer that the Gryffindor give him a name so he could further "If you say so."

Harry nodded slowly, suddenly tired. He could feel last night's events catching up to him, the mental and physical stress wearing at his body. "Can you get to the point? I had a long night."

Slowly, much to Harry's horror, Malfoy's lips curled into a smile, though it could hardly be categorised as something positive as smiles were generally described as. It was more like a smirk, but it was _wicked _and completely _knowing_. Malfoy's eyes were dancing. They were _dancing _and suddenly Harry remembered Draco's words from the evening before at the dance. _Have a good night, Potter. Have a good night. Night. _Night when Voldemort infiltrated Hogwarts; when he killed Snape; when the Dark Lord pressed him against the wall and-- Clenching his fists, Harry pushed that thought from his mind. He would not dwell on the conflicting feelings that bubbled inside, the _wrong _feelings that any thoughts of Voldemort were eliciting lately.

"You knew," the words were out of his mouth before he realised what was happening. "You knew that Voldemort was going to kill Snape; that he was going to be here?!"

Malfoy nodded, that infuriating little smilesmirkgrin_thing _still twisting his face. "I knew."

"Why?!" Jumping to his feet, Harry advanced towards the Slytherin. "I thought you liked Snape? You were always hanging off of him before!"

Slightly perturbed by the quickly declining space between the two of them, Draco shrugged, tilting his head to hide the slight cringe that Potter's words brought. "I was young and foolish, but believe me when I say that I have seen the error of my ways.

"Listen, Potter," Draco ground out while he fought the urge to step back. He would not give into Potter's intimidation technique, even if it was unnervingly effective. The boy simply did not understand the sort of power he radiated when he was angry. "Professor Snape was a traitor, plain and simple, but he was also more than that. His position made him more dangerous than he should ever have been made. You know that everything has changed and that they are still changing. Snape was just one obstacle to further helping those changes along."

Draco's voice didn't once waver, leading Harry to believe that what Malfoy was saying was sincere, that he truly believed that Snape's death was the correct path. Harry's anger waned. Snape was a double agent, playing one side for the other and if Voldemort had killed him, Snape must have been working for Dumbledore in the end though. Killing Snape would have been the logical choice _if _you looked at it from Voldemort's side of the conflict. Of course, Harry didn't condone the killing of people, not if they were innocent, but was Snape innocent?

Draco watched in silence as Harry fought with his thoughts. He didn't expect the Gryffindor to understand, but he had expected Harry to start throwing spells at him. It surprised him that other than a bit of the expected yelling that Potter managed to keep himself in check. "Potter, I can't explain everything now, but everything will make sense in time."

Harry sighed, his anger suddenly gone and replaced with an exhaustion that nearly sent him off his feet. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

Uncaring of the dust, Harry lowered himself to the floor, pulling his legs against his chest with his arms. "Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.

"Answers," Draco grunted, somewhat distracted. What had happened to the loud 'attack first ask questions later' boy that Draco had come to know? Nearly curled up into himself on the floor, Potter looked ever smaller than he was and so much more the defeated boy that Draco had met at Madam Malkins all those years ago. "Your dreams, tell me about them."

Harry shook his head and cursed silently when he felt himself blush. "How do you know about those anyways?"

Draco shot Harry a look, a brow raised and his lips twisted in what Harry would consider the cross between a smirk and a grimace. It was rather unpleasant. "It was my duty to... insure that certain requirements were met. I don't know the juicy details, Potter, so don't worry."

Relief flooded Harry like a wave. Though dreams involving Voldemort worried him, they were also immensely private. Harry had only told his uncle about them because he felt that he could trust him. The sudden appearance of a flesh and blood Tom Riddle, one not created by dreams and who knew what psychological troubles he may or may not be facing threw a wrench into everything and it frightened the hell out of him. The fact that Malfoy knew of these dreams meant that he had been aware that Harry was having dreams which means that they were something his mind had cooked up.

Resting his forehead on his knees, Harry closed his eyes, thankful for the temporary relief from the headache that was slowly building. "What's there to know? I start off alone, Voldemort appears, and I wake up."

"There's more to it than that, even I know that." Draco's amused drawl made Harry uneasy.

"I thought you said you didn't know any details?" His words were muffled against his legs, but were clear enough. Harry didn't think he could look at Malfoy at the moment anyways.

Rolling his eyes, Draco moved closer to Harry, stopping only to crouch in front of the younger student. "I don't, but I do know that it is because of those dreams that your world is changing."

Harry didn't reply, afraid that speaking would make Malfoy's words correct. It had been those dreams that made him question Dumbledore's actions, the words of those around him, _everything._ And Harry couldn't say that he regretted asking those questions, but why did it have to be Voldemort?

Seconds passed and when Potter didn't respond Draco sighed before standing and moving back to the wall. Perhaps it was time to change the subject since Potter was obviously reluctant to further elaborate. "I'll understand if you want to forget this conversation ever happened, but your cooperation would make things easier."

His interest piqued, Harry looked over his knees to the blond aristocrat. "What do you mean?"

Draco smirked, the familiar cockiness back. "I need you to spread a rumour."

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

By the time the students were allowed to venture further than common rooms and the castle deemed safe, Harry had spoken with nearly half of his year mates in Gryffindor and soon the whole house knew. It was surprisingly simple to lie, the false words falling from his tongue with ease. It was as if he had years of practice at the art of falsehood. And with the thought brought painful clarity to the realisation that he did have years of practice.

It hurt to acknowledge the fact that he had kept the grand majority of his childhood to himself, twisting the truth when his friends had asked. What was he going to tell them? 'Yes Hermione, I had a lovely time of being starved and psychologically abused. Would you like to see my bruises?' There were times when he had wanted to tell them, to come clean. Then maybe he would be able to leave the Dursleys. Many times he had wanted to talk to someone, to Remus, to Sirius, to _someone_, but something always held him back. He had always thought that they _knew_ how he was treated. Mrs. Figg had watched him for years, had even patched him up a few times when he was sent there while sporting a bloody knee, so she must have relayed how he was treated to Dumbledore. Unless, unless nobody knew because Dumbledore had never told them.

A chill snaked down his back, and Harry felt the blood rushing from his face, glad that he was hidden in the depths of his bed where no one could see him. Was Dumbledore aware of the abuse he was subjected to by his relatives? Did Dumbledore know that he was just as likely to be hurt where he was supposed to be safe? He had to. It had taken an uncountable amount of letters and even resorting to sending Hagrid to find out why a reply was never sent to Hogwarts. Every year he returned to Hogwarts bruised and undernourished, weak. Sent to school where he was given safety, a soft bed to sleep in, education and plenty of food, yet was sent to another year of lying and holding himself back.

Sometimes Harry wondered if they knew he was lying, that he only skimmed through his summers and that he downplayed the abuse his relatives subjected him to. Over the years Ron and Hermione asked less and less questions. At first Harry had been relieved that they seemed to have backed-off. That they realised that his stay with the Dursleys was a sore subject and that he wasn't ready to talk about it, but slowly the niggling doubt in the back of his mind grew. Did they know he was lying about his summers? Did they know he was lying _now?_

Hermione hadn't said a word as he had explained what he had 'overheard' on his way back to the common room. The rumour was simple, short, and completely plausible. It was also completely true, but nobody knew that. "I didn't hear all of it, only parts, but Voldemort was definitely in the castle."

Pale under her freckles, Ginny had chewed on her bottom lip. Out of all of Harry's friends, Ginny was the only one who had any real contact with Voldemort. His younger counterpart, though charming and handsome, had been just as dangerous. She remembered him well and Harry had to look away from her as her fear reminded him of his own and the man who had visited him in his dreams and who had captured him the night before.

"Who saw him?" Ginny had asked after clearing her throat, the silence that had fallen once Harry had shared what he had heard and effectively knocking out the slim chance that Snape had died of a natural cause out of the window.

Harry had shrugged, "if they said, I missed it. I only heard a bit since they were walking away."

"I don't know," Hermione had said once Harry finished. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Voldemort himself come here whether it was to murder Professor Snape or not? And for that matter, how did he get in?" Harry had recognized that determined look in her eyes and had groaned silently. Hopefully he would manage to escape her volunteering him to help research ways a wizard could sneak into Hogwarts. An argument between them meant nothing when Voldemort was involved. At least, that's how it used to be.

Hermione had then looked to Harry as if he had known all the answers. "Are you sure Professor Dumbledore never said anything to you?"

Harry had sighed, but knew that he wouldn't be able to curl back into bed without some sort of inquisition from Hermione. "Not a single word. He probably doesn't want people to know that Voldemort was able to get into Hogwarts."

Hermione hummed, but it had been clear that her thoughts were elsewhere. The following conversation had progressed in a similar manner and it wasn't long before Harry was reminded of his headache. While Hermione had already been flipping through any books she had on hand, it was Ginny who had acknowledged Harry's pained expression and sent him to bed.

He had ignored Hermione's disapproving frown, but at the time, Harry really didn't care. Now he relished in the silence of the dorm room and the warmth of his blankets. With the curtains closed darkness enveloped him and calmed his pounding headache, but no matter how he tried he couldn't fall asleep. His mind kept replaying his meeting with Malfoy, the plans they made and the conversation they didn't have.

Finally, Harry's thoughts slowly drifted off and became whimsical. Faintly he remembered he was to meet with Malfoy the next morning, but the unimportance of the thought was easily brushed away at the promise of uninterrupted rest.

**TRHPTRHPTRHP**

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Harry looked nervously into the cauldron, grimacing at every vomit coloured bubble that rose before popping with a sickening gurgle.

Draco rolled his eyes at the fidgeting Gryffindor; he was quite ready to smack him across the head with his potions text. "Relax, Potter. I am only at the top of the advanced potions class," he said, conveniently forgetting that Hermione shared that spot with him. "I think I know what I'm doing. Besides, it is supposed to look like that."

Harry didn't look so sure. He was all for fixing his eyes, his glasses were old and a continuing inconvenience, but once Malfoy had announced so enthusiastically that he'd be the one to make the visual-correcting potion, since Harry was 'absolutely hopeless' when it came to potions, was when he begun to have his doubts. He had seen a many oddly shaded potions, but this one had to take the cake. It didn't smell so pleasant either. "Tell me it isn't almost done."

"It is not almost done."

The timer Draco set went off. It was done.

"Malfoy!"

The blond Slytherin smirked, "Don't get angry at me. You told me to tell you it wasn't done."

Harry glowered, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," his grey eyes narrowed gleefully and he chuckled, "you're pouting."

Harry froze and schooled his face, "I am not."

Draco shook his head, "whatever, Potter." He shoved a glass of the cooling potion into Harry's hand. "Drink it while it's warm or my efforts will go to waste."

The smell alone made Harry nauseous; it reminded him of Dudley's fouled attempt of baking cookies – cookies that his cousin had forced him to eat.

Impatient, Draco tapped his manicured nails on the table, "Oh, suck it up. What kind of Gryffindor are you?"

Choosing to ignore the insufferable prat, Harry pinched his nose before kicking back the foul concoction. The thick, syrupy-potion slugged down his throat, but the taste still burned his mouth and Harry fought hard not to gag.

Draco, in the meanwhile sat leaning against the work table, watching curiously as Harry shuddered, quickly slamming to the now empty glass on the table with one hand, and covering his mouth in an attempt to keep the potion down with his other. Minutes ticked by in silence as Draco watched as Harry suffered in barely kept silence.

Finally, the slight shudders that wracked Harry's body halted and the younger boy let out a gasp. Falling onto his stool, Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes as they prickled slightly, but otherwise held no irritation. Opening his mouth to speak, he quickly snapped his mouth shut as a wave of aftertaste hit him and he nearly leapt for the jug of water prepared earlier on the table.

As Harry downed one glass of water after another, Malfoy watched silently from his seat, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Slow down Potter, you'll just end up making yourself sick."

Acknowledging that his ex-rival was right, Harry slowed down to sipping the rest of his water, placing the empty glass on the table once finished. "That tasted horrible."

"Obviously."

Harry shook his head, swallowing his annoyance. When Malfoy had asked to meet him the day after their first meeting Harry hadn't known what to expect, but whatever is had been, it was no where near close to having Malfoy offer to brew a vision correcting potion for him. At first Harry had been a little suspicious; would Malfoy try to poison him? He had hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough for Malfoy to roll his eyes and start brewing the potion.

"Killing you now would mess up my plans, Potter." Malfoy had said.

"But what about later?"

Malfoy just laughed.

Harry hadn't died yet and his eye sight _was _improving. The potion slowly improved his vision over a period of six hours, but already Harry could see better than he did with his old pair of scratched, and outdated, glasses. It was liberating to be able to see clearly and to be without the bothersome weight on his face.

"If you're done grinning like a fool you can start helping me clean up." Malfoy scowled as he banished the remaining cooled potion. "This cauldron needs to be cleaned and the ingredients put away."

They were tasks easily completed and Harry did so almost mindlessly, his thoughts elsewhere. It was clear that with Malfoy's offer to brew the potion he was trying to earn Harry's trust. Why, Harry wasn't completely sure, but he couldn't help but think it would be nice to have someone he could trust. Whether that person was Draco Malfoy or not, the fact that he was trying to act further on their truce was reassuring to Harry.

Now if only everything else worked out so well.


End file.
